ALFRED  NOYPS 


OF  THE 
UNIVERSITY 
O^      OF 
4^P0R^ 


THE  GOLDEN  HYNDE 

AND  OTHER  POEMS 


THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

NBWYORK   •   BOSTON  •    CHICAGO   •    DALLAS 
ATLANTA  •    SAN   FRANCISCO 

MACMILLAN  &  CO.,  Limited 

LONDON  •  BOMBAY  •  CALCUTTA 
MELBOURNE 

THE  MACMILLAN  CO.  OF  CANADA,  Ltd. 

TORONTO 


THE  GOLDEN  HYNDE 

AND  OTHER  POEMS 


BY 


ALFEED  NOTES 


THE   FLOWEB  OF 
OLD  JAPAN,"   ETC. 


'Ntta  gotit 

THE   MACMILLAN   COMPANY 

1914 

All  rights  reserved 


CJOPTBIGHT,   1908, 

By  the   MACMILLAN  COMPANY. 

Set  up  and  electrotyped.    Published  February,  1908.     Reprinted 
March,  1913;  August,  1914. 


NortoooK  13rf8« 

J.  8.  Cuflhing  Co.  —  Berwick  «fc  Smith  Co. 

Norwood,  Mass.,  U.S.A. 


MY  AMERICAN  WIFE 


M572787 


7^ 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

The  'Golden  Hynde' 1 

At  Dawn 5 

A  Seventieth  Birthday 11 

The  Net  of  Vulcan 14 

Orpheus  and  Eurydice 16 

From  the  Shore 37 

The  Return 42 

On  a  Railway  Platform 44 

An  Old  Song  Ended 46 

Love's  Ghost 48 

NiOBE 51 

The  Last  of  the  Titans 54 

The  Ride  of  Phaethon 67 

The  Empire-builders 74 

Nelson's  Year  — 1905 78 

In  Time  of  War 86 

To  England  in  1907 103 

In  Cloak  of  Grey 107 

A  Ride  for  the  Queen 109 

Song  —  'When  that  I  loved  a  maiden*  .        .113 

Eve's  Apple 115 

v 


VI  CONTENTS 

PAOB 

Recollections  of  a  Song 117 

E  Tenebris 119 

Sonnet  — '  Love,  when  the  great  hour  knelled 

FOR  thee  and  me  * 122 

The  Real  Dante 124 

A  Prayer         . 126 

Old  Japan  at  Earl's  Court       ....  128 

Oxford  Revisited 131 

Earth's  Immortalities 136 

The  Testimony  of  Art 138 

Song  —  'Nymphs  and  naiads,  come  away'        .  139 

Remembrance 141 

Unity 143 

Joy  and  Pain 145 

In  the  Cool  of  the  Evening      ....  147 

The  Cottage  of  the  Kindly  Light  .        .        .  150 

The  Three  Ships 165 

Slumber-songs  of  the  Madonna        .        .        .  168 

The  Call  of  the  Spring 179 

The  Lights  of  Home 183 

Credo 184 


THE  GOLDEN  HYNDE 

AND  OTHER  POEMS 


THE  GOLDEN  HYNDE 

I 

With  the  fruit  of  Aladdin's  Garden  clustering 
thick  in  her  hold, 

With  rubies  a-wash  in  her  scuppers  and  her 
bilge  a-blaze  with  gold, 

A  world  in  arms  behind  her  to  sever  her  heart 
from  home. 

The  Golden  Hynde  drove  onward,  over  the  glit- 
tering foam. 

II 

If  we  go,  as  we  came,  by  the  Southward,  we 

meet  wi'  the  fleets  of  Spain! 
'Tis  a  thousand  to  one  against  us;    we'll  turn 

to  the  West  again; 
We  have  captured  a  China  pilot,  his  charts  and 

his  golden  keys; 


2  THE  GOLDEN  HTNBE 

We'll  sail  to  the  golden  Gateway,  over  the 
golden  seas. 

Ill 
What  shall  we  see  as  we  sail  there?    Clusters 

of  coral  and  palm, 
Oceans  of  silken  slumber,  measureless  leagues 

of  calm. 
Islands  of  purple  story,  lit  with  the  Westering 

gleam. 
Washed  by  the   unknown  whisper,   dreaming 

the  world-wide  dream.     " 

IV 

There  will  be  shores  of  sirens,  with  arms  that 

beckon  us  near. 
As  they  stand  knee-deep  in  the  foam-flowers, 

with  perilous  breasts  and  hair; 
Sweet  is  the  rest  they  proffer;   but  what  shall 

we  gain  of  these 


THE  GOLDEN  HTNBE  3 

When  we  gaze  on  the  golden  Gateway  that 
shines  on  the  golden  seas? 

V 

Wound  in  their  white  embraces,  couched  in  the 
lustrous  gloom, 

Gazing  ever  to  seaward  thro'  the  broad  mag- 
nolia bloom, 

We  should  weary  of  all  their  kisses  when,  under 
the  first  white  star, 

Over  the  limitless  ocean,  the  golden  Gates  unbar. 

VI 

White  arms  will  strive  to  hold  us;  but  we  shall 

rise  and  go 
Down  to  the  salt  sea-beaches  where  the  waves 

are  whispering  low: 
White  arms  will  plead  in  anguish  as  the  sails  fill 

out  to  the  breeze. 
And  we  turn  to  the  golden  Gateway  that  burns 

on  the  golden  seas! 


4  THE  GOLDEN  HYNDE 

VII 

We  shall  put  out  from  shore  then,  out  to  the 

Western  skies,    , 
With  the  old  despairing  rapture  and  the  sunset 

in  our  eyes! 
What  shall  we  gain  of  our  going,  what  of  the 

fading  gleam, 
What  of  the  gathering  darkness,  what  of  the 

dying  dream? 

VIII 

Only  the  unknown  glory,  only  the  hope  deferred. 
Only  the  wondrous  whisper,  only  the  unknown 

Word, 
Voice  of  the  God  that  gave  us  billow  and  beam 

and  breeze. 
As  we  sail  to  the  golden  Gateway,  over  the 

golden  seas. 


AT  DAWN 

0  Hesper-Phosphor,  far  away, 
Shining,  the  first,  the  last  white  star, 

Hear'st  thou  the  strange,  the  ghostly  cry, 

That  moan  of  an  ancient  agony 

From  purple  forest  to  golden  sky 
Shivering  over  the  breathless  bay? 

It  is  not  the  wind  that  wakes  with  the  day; 
For  see,  the  gulls  that  wheel  and  call. 
Beyond  the  tumbling  white-topped  bar. 

Catching  the  sun-dawn  on  their  wings, 
Like  snow-flakes  or  like  rose-leaves  fall, 

Flutter  and  fall  in  airy  rings; 
And  drift,  like  liUes  ruffling  into  blossom 
Upon  some  golden  lake's  unwrinkled  bosom. 

Are  not  the  forest's  deep-lashed  fringes  wet 

With  tears?    Is  not  the  voice  of  all  regret 
5 


6  AT  DAWN 

Breaking  out  of  the  dark  earth's  heart? 
She  too,  she  too,  has  loved  and  lost ;  and  we  — 
We  that  remember  our  lost  Arcady, 
Have  we  not  known,  we  too, 
The  primal  greenwood's  arch  of  blue. 
The  radiant  clouds  at  sunrise  curled 
Around  the  brows  of  the  golden  world; 
The  marble  temples,  washed  with  dew, 
To  which  with  rosy  limbs  aflame 
The  violet-eyed  Thalassian  came. 
Came,  pitiless,  only  to  display 
How  soon  the  youthful  splendour  dies  away; 

Came  only  to  depart 
Laughing  across  the  grey-grown  bitter  sea; 
For  each  man's  life  is  earth's  epitome. 
And  though  the  years  bring  more  than  aught 

they  take, 
Yet  might  his  heart  and  hers  well  break 
Remembering  how  one  prayer  must  still  be  vain, 


AT  DAWN  T 

How  one  fair  hope  is  dead, 
One  passion  quenched,  one  glory  fled 
With  those  first  loves  that  never  come  again. 

How  many  years,  how  many  generations. 

Have  heard  that  sigh  in  the  dawn. 
When  the  dark  earth  yearns  to  the  unforgotten 
nations 

And  the  old  loves  withdrawn, 
Old  loves,  old  lovers,  wonderful  and  unnumbered 

As  waves  on  the  wine-dark  sea. 
'Neath  the  tall  white  towers  of  Troy  and  the 
temples  that  slumbered 

In  Thessaly? 

From  the  beautiful  palaces,  from  the  miracu- 
lous portals, 
The  swift  white  feet  are  flown! 

They  were  taintless  of  dust,  the  proud,  the 
peerless  Immortals 


8  AT  DAWN 

As  they  sped  to  their  loftier  throne! 
Perchance  they  are  there,  earth  dreams,  on  the 
shores  of  Hesper, 
Her  rosy-bosomed  Hours, 
Listening    the    wild    fresh    forest's    enchanted 
whisper, 
Crowned  with  its  new  strange  flowers; 
Listening   the   great   new   ocean's  triumphant 
thunder 
On  the  stainless  unknown  shore. 
While  that  perilous  queen  of  the  world's  delight 
and  wonder 
Comes  white  from  the  foam  once  more. 

When  the  mists  divide  with  the  dawn  o'er  those 
glittering  waters, 
Do  they  gaze  over  unoared  seas  — 

Naiad  and  nymph  and  the  woodland's  rose- 
crowned  daughters 


\ 


AT  DAWN  9 

And  the  Oceanides? 
Do  they  sing  together,  perchance,  in  that  dia- 
mond splendour, 
That  world  of  dawn  and  dew. 
With  eyelids  twitching  to  tears  and  with  eyes 
grown  tender 
The  sweet  old  songs  they  knew. 
The  songs  of  Greece?    Ah,  with  harp-strings 
mute  do  they  falter 
As  the  earth  like  a  small  star  pales? 
When  the  heroes  launch  their  ship  by  the  smok- 
ing altar 
Does  a  memory  lure  their  sails? 
Far,  far  away,  do  their  hearts  resume  the  story 

That  never  on  earth  was  told. 
When  all  those  urgent  oars  on  the  waste  of  glory 
Cast  up  its  gold? 

Are  not  the  forest  fringes  wet 

With  tears?    Is  not  the  voice  of  all  regret 


10  AT  DAWN 

Breaking  out  of  the  dark  earth's  heart? 

She  too,  she  too,  has  loved  and  lost ;  and  though 

She  turned  last  night  in  disdain 

Away  from  the  sunset-embers, 
From  her  soul  she  can  never  depart; 
She  can  never  depart  from  her  pain. 
Vainly  she  strives  to  forget; 
Beautiful  in  her  woe, 

She  awakes  in  the  dawn  and  remembers. 


A  SEVENTIETH  BIRTHDAY 

(in  honour  of  ALGERNON  CHARLES  SWINBURNE) 

(B,  April  5,  1837) 

I 

He  needs  no  crown  of  ours,  whose  golden  heart 
Poured  out  its  wealth  so  freely  in  pure  praise 
Of  others:   him  the  imperishable  bays 
Crown,  and  on  Sunium's  height  he  sits  apart: 
He  hears  immortal  greetings  this  great  morn, 
Fain  would  we  bring,  we  also,  all  we  may, 
Some  wayside  flower  of  transitory  bloom, 
Frail  tribute  only  born 
To  greet  the  gladness  of  this  April  day  — 
Then  waste  on  Death's  dark  wind  its  faint 
perfume. 

II 

Here,  on  this  April  day,  the  whole  sweet  Spring 

Speaks  thro'  his  music  only,  or  seems  to  speak ; 
11 


12  A  SEVENTIETH  BIRTHDAY 

And  we  that  hear,  with  hearts  upUft  and  weak, 
What  can  we  more  than  claim  him  for  our  king  ? 
Here,  on  this  April  day  (and  many  a  time 
Shall  Spring  return  and  find  him  singing  still) 
He  is  one  with  the  world's  great  heart 
beyond  the  years, . 
One  with  the  pulsing  rhyme 
Of  tides  that  work  some  heavenly  rhythmic 
will 
And  hold  the  secret  of  all  human  tears. 

ni 
For  he,  the  last  of  that  immortal  race 
Whose  music  like  a  robe  of  living  light 
Re-clothed  each  new-born  age  and  made  it 
bright 
As  with  the  glory  of  Love's  transfiguring  face. 
Reddened  earth's  roses,  kindled  the  deep  blue 
Of  England's  radiant  ever-singing  sea, 


A   SEVENTIETH  BIRTHDAY  13 

Recalled  the  white  Thalassian  from  the  foam 
Woke  the  dim  stars  anew 
And  triumphed  in  the  triumph  of  Liberty, 
We  claim  him;    but  he  hath  not  here  his 
home. 

IV 

Not  here !    Round  him  to-day  the  clouds  divide. 
We  know  what  faces  thro'  that  rose-flushed  air 
Now  bend  above  him  —  Shelley's  face  is  there, 
And  Hugo's  lit  with  more  than  kingly  pride; 
Replenished  there  with  splendour  the  blind  eyes 
Of  Milton  bend  from  heaven  to  meet  his  own ; 
Sappho  is  there  crowned  with  those  queen- 
lier  flowers 
Whose  graft  outgrew  our  skies, 
His  gift:    Shakespeare  leans  earthward  from 
his  throne 
With  hands  outstretched.    He  needs  no 
crown  of  ours. 


THE  NET  OF  VULCAN 

I 

From  peaks  that  clove  the  heavens  asunder 

The  hunch-back  god  with  sooty  claws 
Loomed  o'er  the  night,  a  cloud  of  thunder, 

And  hurled  the  net  of  mortal  laws; 
It  flew,  and  all  the  world  grew  dimmer; 

Its  blackness  blotted  out  the  stars. 
Then  fell  across  the  rosy  glimmer 

That  told  where  Venus  couched  with  Mars. 

11 

And,  when  the  steeds  that  draw  the  morning 
Spurned  from  their  Orient  hooves  the  spray. 

All  vainly  soared  the  lavrock,  warning 

Those  tangled  lovers  of  the  day: 

Still  with  those  twin  white  waves  in  blossom 
14 


TBE  NET  OF  VULCAN  15 

Against  the  warrior's  rock-broad  breast, 
The  netted  Hght  of  the  foam-born  bosom 
Breathed  like  a  sea  at  rest. 

Ill 
And  light  was  all  that  followed  after, 

Light  the  derision  of  the  sky, 
Light  the  divine  Olympian  laughter 

Of  kindlier  gods  in  days  gone  by: 
Low  to  her  lover  whispered  Venus, 

'The  shameless  net  be  praised  for  this  — 
When  night  herself  no  more  could  screen  us 

It  snared  us  one  more  hour  of  bliss.' 


ORPHEUS  AND  EURYDICE 

I 

Cloud  upon  cloud,  the  purple  pinewoods  clung 
to  the  rich  Arcadian  mountains, 
Holy-sweet  as  a  column  of  incense,  where 
Eurydice  roamed  and  sung : 
All  the  hues  of  the  gates  of  heaven  flashed  from 
The  white  enchanted  fountains 
Where  in  the  flowery  glades  of  the  forest  the 
rivers  that  sing  to  Arcadia  sprung. 

White  as  a  shining  marble  Dryad,  supple  and 

sweet  as  a  rose  in  blossom. 

Fair  and  fleet  as  a  fawn  that  shakes  the  dew 

from  the  fern  at  break  of  day. 

Wreathed  with  the  clouds  of  her  dusky  hair  that 

V    kissed  and  clung  to  her  sun-bright  bosom, 

16 


OEPHEUS  AND  EUBTDICE  17 

Down  to  the  valley  she  came,  and  the  sound 
of  her  feet  was  the  bursting  of  flowers  in 
May. 

Down  to  the  valley  she  came,  for  far  and  far  be- 
low in  the  dreaming  meadows 
Pleaded  ever  the  Voice  of  voices,  calling  his 
love  by  her  golden  name;     , 
So  she  arose  from  her  home  in  the  hills,  and  down 
through  the   blossoms    that   danced   with 
their  shadows, 
Out  of  the  blue  of  the  dreaming  distance, 
down  to  the  heart  of  her  lover  she  came. 

Red  were  the  lips  that  hovered  above  her  lips  in 

the  flowery  haze  of  the  June-day, 

Red  as  a  rose  through  the  perfumed  mist  of 

passion  that  reeled  before  her  eyes; 

Strong  the  smooth  young  sunburnt  arms  that 
c 


18  0BPHEU8  AND  EUBTDICE 

folded  her  heart  to  his  heart  in  the  noon- 
day, 
Strong  and  supple  with  throbbing  sunshine 
under  the  blinding  southern  skies. 

Ah,  the  kisses,  the  little  murmurs,  mad  with  pain 
for  their  phantom  fleetness, 
Mad  with  pain  for  the  passing  of  love  that 
lives,  they  dreamed  —  as  we  dream  —  for 
an  hour! 
Ah,  the  sudden  tempest  of  passion,  mad  with 
pain  for  its  oversweetness. 
As  petal  by  petal  and  pang  by  pang  their  love 
broke  out  into  perfect  flower. 

Ah,  the  wonder  as  once  he  wakened,  out  of  a 
dream  of  remembered  blisses. 
Couched  in  the  meadows  of  dreaming  blossom 
to  feel,  like  the  touch  of  a  flower  on  his 
eyes, 


OBPHEUS  AND  EUBTDICE  19 

Cool  and  fresh  with  the  fragrant  dews  of  dawn 
the  touch  of  her  hght  swift  kisses, 
Shed  from  the  shadowy  rose  of  her  face  be- 
tween his  face  and  the  warm  blue  skies. 

II 

Lost  in  his  new  desire 

He  dreamed  away  the  hours; 

His  lyre 
Lay  buried  in  the  flowers : 

To  whom  the  King  of  Heaven, 
Apollo,  lord  of  light 

Had  given 
Such  beauty,  love,  and  might: 

Might,  if  he  would,  to  slay 
All  evil  dreams  and  pierce 

The  grey 
Veil  of  the  Universe; 


20  ORPHEUS  AND  EUBYDICE 

With  love  that  holds  in  one 
Sacred  and  ancient  bond 

The  sun 
And  all  the  vast  beyond; 

And  beauty  to  enthrall 
The  soul  of  man  to  heaven: 

Yea,  all 
Such  gifts  was  Orpheus  given. 

Yet  in  his  dream's  desire 
He  drowsed  away  the  hours : 

His  lyre 
Lay  buried  in  the  flowers. 

Then  in  his  wrath  arose 
Apollo,  lord  of  light, 

That  shows 
The  wrong  deed  from  the  right; 


ORPHEUS  AND  EURYDICE  21 

And  by  what  radiant  laws 
Overruling  human  needs 

The  cause 
To  consequence  proceeds; 

How  balanced  is  the  sway 
He  gives  each  mortal  doom; 

How  day 
Demands  the  atoning  gloom : 

How  all  good  things  await 
The  soul  that  pays  the  price 

To  fate 
By  equal  sacrifice; 

And  how  on  him  that  sleeps 
For  less  than  labour's  sake 

There  creeps, 
Uncharmed,  the  Pythian  snake. 


22  OBPHEUS  AND  EURTBICB 

III 

Lulled  by  the  wash  of  the  feathery  grasses,  a  sea 
with  many  a  sun-swept  billow, 
Heart  to  heart  in  the  heart  of  the  summer, 
lover  by  lover  asleep  they  lay. 
Hearing  only  the  whirring  cicala  that  chirruped 
awhile  at  their  poppied  pillow 
Faint  and  sweet  as  the  murmur  of  men  that 
laboured  in  villages  far  away. 

Was  not  the  menace  indeed  more  silent?    Ah, 
what  care  for  labour  and  sorrow  ? 
Gods  in  the  meadows  of  moly  and  amaranth 
surely  might  envy  their  deep  sweet  bed 
Here  where  the  butterflies  troubled  the  lilies  of 
peace,  and  took  no  thought  for  the  mor- 
row. 
And  golden-girdled  bees  made  feast  as  over 
the  lotos  the  soft  sun  spread. 


ORPHEUS  AND  EUBTDICE  23 

Nearer,  nearer  the  menace  glided,  out  of  the 
gorgeous  gloom  around  them, 
Out  of  the  poppy-haunted  shadows  deep  in 
the  heart  of  the  purple  brake; 
Till  through  the  hush  and  the  heat  as  they  lay, 
and  their  own  sweet  listless  dreams  en- 
wound  them,  — 
Mailed  and  mottled  with  hues  of  the  grape- 
bloom  suddenly,  quietly,  glided  the  snake. 

Subtle  as  jealousy,  supple  as  falsehood,  diamond- 
headed  and  cruel  as  pleasure. 
Coil  by  coil  he  lengthened  and  glided,  straight 
to  the  fragrant  curve  of  her  throat : 
There  in  the  print  of  the  last  of  the  kisses  that 
still  glowed  red  from  the  sweet  long  pres- 
sure. 
Fierce  as  famine  and  swift  as  lightning  over 
the  glittering  lyre  he  smote. 


24  ORPHEUS  AND  EURTDICE 

IV 

And  over  the  cold  white  body  of  love  and  delight 
Orpheus  arose  in  the  terrible  storm  of  his 
grief, 
With  quivering  up-clutched  hands,  deadly  and 
white, 
And  his  whole  soul  wavered  and  shook  like  a 
wind-swept  leaf: 

As  a  leaf  that  beats  on  a  mountain,  his  spirit  in 
vain 
Assaulted  his  doom  and  beat  on  the  Gates  of 
Death : 
Then  prone  with  his  arms  o'er  the  lyre  he  sobbed 
out  his  pain. 
And  the  tense  chords  faintly  gave  voice  to  the 
pulse  of  his  breath. 

And  he  heard  it  and  rose,  once  again,  with  the 
lyre  in  his  hand, 


OBPHEUS  AND  EUBTDICE  25 

And  smote  out  the  cry  that  his  white-Hpped 
sorrow  denied: 
And  the  grief's  mad  ecstasy  swept  o'er  the  sum- 
mer-sweet land, 
And  gathered  the  tears  of  all  Time  in  the  rush 
of  its  tide. 

There  was  never  a  love  forsaken  or  faith  for- 
sworn, 
There  was  never  a  cry  for  the  living  or  moan 
for  the  slain, 
But  was  voiced  in  that  great  consummation  of 
song;   ay,  and  borne 
To  storm  on  the  Gates  of  the  land  whence  none 
Cometh  again. 

Transcending  the  barriers  of  earth,  comprehend- 
ing them  all. 
He  followed  the  soul  of  his  loss  with  the  night 
in  his  eyes; 


26  ORPHEUS  AND  EUBYDICE 

And  the  portals  lay  bare  to  him  there;  and  he 
heard  the  faint  call 
Of  his  love  o'er  the  rabble  that  wails  by  the 
river  of  sighs. 

Yea,  there  in  the  mountains  before  him  he  knew 
it  of  old, 
That  portal  enormous  of  gloom,  he  had  seen  it 
in  dreams, 
When  the  secrets  of  Time  and  of  Fate  through 
his  harmonies  rolled ; 
And  behind  it  he  heard  the  dead  moan  by 
their  desolate  streams. 

And  he  passed  through  the  Gates  with  the  light 

and  the  cloud  of  his  song. 
Dry-shod  over  Lethe  he  passed  to  the  chasms 

of  Hell; 
And  the  hosts  of  the  dead  made  mock  at  him, 

crying,  how  long 


ORPHEUS  AND  EURYDICE  27 

Have  we  dwelt  in  the  darkness,  oh  fool,  and 
shall  evermore  dwell? 

Did  our  lovers  not  love  us?  the  grey  skulls 
hissed  in  his  face; 
Were  our  lips  not  red  ?    Were  these  cavernous 
eyes  not  bright  ? 
Yet  us,  whom  the  soft  flesh  clothed  with  such 
roseate  grace, 
Our  lovers  would  loathe  if  we  ever  returned 
to  their  sight ! 

Oh  then,  through  the  soul  of  the  Singer,  a  pity 
so  vast 
Mixed  with  his  anguish  that,  smiting  anew 
on  his  lyre, 
He  caught  up  the  sorrows  of  hell  in  his  utterance 
at  last. 
Comprehending  the  need  of  them  all  in  his 
own  great  desire. 


28  OBPHEUS  AND  EURYDICE 

V 

And  they  that  were  dead,  in  his  radiant  music, 
heard  the  moaning  of  doves  in  the  olden 
Golden-girdled  purple  pinewood,  heard  the 
moan  of  the  roaming  sea ; 
Heard  the  chant  of  the  soft-winged  songsters, 
nesting  now  in  the  fragrant  golden 
Olden  haunted  blossoming  bowers  of  lovers 
that  wandered  in  Arcady;      < 

Saw  the  soft  blue  veils  of  shadow  floating  over 
the  billowy  grasses 
Under  the   crisp  white  curling  clouds  that 
sailed    and    trailed  through    the    melting 
blue ; 
Heard  once  more  the  quarrel  of  lovers  above 
them  pass,  as  a  lark-song  passes. 
Light  and  bright,   till  it  vanished  away  in 
an  eyebright  heaven  of  silvery  dew. 


ORPHEUS  AND  EUBTDICE  29 

White  as  a  dream  of  Aphrodite,  supple  and  sweet 
as  a  rose  in  blossom, 
Fair  and  fleet  as  a  fawn  that  shakes  the  dew 
from  the  fern  at  break  of  day; 
Wreathed  with  the  clouds  of  her  dusky  hair,  that 
kissed  and  clung  to  her  sun-bright  bosom, 
On  through  the  deserts  of  hell  she  came,  and 
the  brown  air  bloomed  with  the  light  of 
May. 

On  through  the  deserts  of  hell  she  came;  for 
over  the  fierce  and  frozen  meadows 
Pleaded  ever  the  Voice  of  voices,  calling  his 
love  by  her  golden  name ; 
So  she  arose  from  her  grave  in  the  darkness, 
and    up    through    the  wailing    fires    and 
shadows. 
On  by  chasm  and  cliff  and  cavern,  out  of  the 
horrors  of  death  she  came. 


30  OBPHEUS  AND  EURYBICE  j 

Then  had  she  followed  him,  then  had  he  won  her, 
striking  a  chord  that  should  echo  for  ever, 
Had  he  been    steadfast   only  a    Httle,   nor 
paused  in  the  great  transcendent  song; 
But  ere  they  had  won  to  the  glory  of  day,  he 
came  to  the  brink  of  the  flaming  river 
And  ceased,  to  look  on  his  love  a  moment,  a 
little  moment,  and  over  long. 

O'er  Phlegethon  he  stood: 
Below  him  roared  and  flamed 

The  flood 
For  utmost  anguish  named. 

And  lo,  across  the  night, 
The  shining  form  he  knew 

With  light 
Swift  footsteps  upward  drew. 


ORPHEUS  AND  EURTDfCE  31 

Up  through  the  desolate  lands 
She  stole,  a  ghostly  star, 

With  hands 
Outstretched  to  him  afar. 

With  arms  outstretched,  she  came 
In  yearning  majesty. 

The  same 
Royal  Eurydice. 

Up  through  the  ghastly  dead 
She  came,  with  shining  eyes 

And  red 
Sweet  lips  of  child-surprise. 

Up  through  the  wizened  crowds 
She  stole,  as  steals  the  moon 

Through  clouds 
Of  flowery  mist  in  June. 

He  gazed :  he  ceased  to  smite 
The  golden-chorded  lyre : 


32  OBPHEUS  AND  EURTJDICE 

Delight 
Consumed  his  heart  with  fire. 

Though  in  that  deadly  land 
His  task  was  but  half-done, 

His  hand 
Drooped,  and  the  fight  half  won. 

He  saw  the  breasts  that  glowed, 
The  fragrant  clouds  of  hair ; 

They  flowed 
Around  him  like  a  snare. 

O^er  Phlegethon  he  stood, 
For  utmost  anguish  named : 

The  flood 
Below  him  roared  and  flximed 

Out  of  his  hand  the  lyre 
Suddenly  slipped  and  fell: 

The  fire 
Acclaimed  it  into  hell. 


ORPHEUS  AND  EUBTDICE  33 

The  night  grew  dark  again : 
There  came  a  bitter  cry 

Of  pain, 
Oh,  Love,  once  more  I  die ! 

And  lo,  the  earth-dawn  broke, 
And  Hke  a  wraith  she  fled: 

He  woke 
Alone:   his  love  was  dead. 

He  woke  on  earth :  the  day 
Shone  coldly :  at  his  side 

There  lay 
The  body  of  his  bride. 

VII 

Only  now  when  the  purple  vintage  bubbles  and 
winks  in  the  autumn  glory. 
Only  now  when  the  great  white  oxen  drag  the 
weight  of  the  harvest  home, 

D 


84  ORPHEUS  AND  EURYDICE 

Sunburnt  labourers,  under  the  star  of  the  sun- 
set, sing  as  an  old-world  story- 
How   two    pale    and    thwarted   lovers   ever 
through  Arcady  still  must  roam. 

Faint  as  the  silvery  mists  of  morning  over  the 
peaks  that  the  noonday  parches, 
On  through  the  haunts  of  the  gloaming  musk- 
rose,  down   to   the  rivers  that  glisten  be- 
low, 

Ever  they  wander  from  meadow  to  pinewood, 
under  the  whispering  woodbine  arches. 
Faint  as  the  mist  of  the  dews  of  the  dusk 
when  violets  dream   and  the   moon-winds 
blow. 

Though  the  golden  lute  of  Orpheus  gathered  the 
splendours  of  earth  and  heaven, 
All  the  golden  greenwood  notes  and  all  the 
chimes  of  the  changing  sea, 


ORPHEUS  AND  EUETBICE  35 

Old  men  over  the  fires  of  winter  murmur  again 
that  he  was  not  given 
The  steadfast  heart  divine  to  rule  that  infinite 
freedom  of  harmony. 

Therefore  he  failed,  say  they;  but  we,  that  have 
no  wisdom,  can  only  remember 
How  through  the  purple  perfumed  pinewoods 
white  Eurydice  roamed  and  sung: 
How  through  the  whispering  gold  of  the  wheat, 
where   the   poppy  burned  like   a  crimson 
ember, 
Down  to  the  valley  in  beauty  she  came,  and 
under  her  coming  the  flowers  up-sprung. 

Down  to  the  valley  she  came,  for  far  and  far 
below  in  the  dreaming  meadows 
Pleaded  ever  the  Voice  of  voices,  calUng  his 
love  by  her  golden  name; 


36  OBPHEUS  AND  EURTDICE 

So  she  arose  from  her  home  in  the  hills,  and 
down  through  the  blossoms   that  danced 
with  their  shadows 
Out  of  the  blue  of  the  dreaming  distance, 
down  to  the  heart  of  her  lover  she  came. 


FROM  THE  SHORE 

I 

Love,  so  strangely  lost  and  found, 

Love,  beyond  these  Gates  of  Death, 
Love,  immortally  re-crowned, 

Love,  who  swayest  this  mortal  breath, 
Sweetlier  to  thy  lover's  ear 

Steals  the  tale  that  ne'er  was  told: 
Bright-eyes,  ah,  thine  arms  are  near, 

Nearer  now  than  e'er  of  old. 

n 

When  on  earth  thy  hands  were  mine. 

Mine  to  hold  for  evermore. 
Oft  we  watched  the  sunset  shine 

Lonelier  from  this  wave-beat  shore; 
Pent  in  prison-cells  of  clay 

37 


38  FROM  THE  SHORE 

Time  had  power  on  thee  and  me, 
Thou  and  heaven  are  one  to-day 
One  with  earth  and  sky  and  sea. 

Ill 
Indivisible  and  one 

Beauty  hath  unlocked  the  gate, 
Oped  the  portals  of  the  sun, 

Burst  the  bars  of  Time  and  Fate: 
Violets  in  the  dawn  of  Spring 

Hold  the  secret  of  thine  eyes; 
Lilies  bare  their  breasts  and  fling 

Scents  of  thee  from  Paradise. 

IV 

Brooklets  have  thy  talk  by  rote, 
Thy  farewells  array  the  West; 

Fur  that  clasped  thee  round  the  throat 
Leaps  —  a  squirrel  —  to  its  nest : 

Backward  from  a  sparkling  eye. 


FROM  THE  SHORE  39 

Half-forgotten  jests  return 
Where  the  rabbit  lollops  by- 
Hurry-scurry  through  the  fern. 

V 

■Roses  where  I  lonely  pass, 

Brush  my  brow  and  breathe  thy  kiss; 
Zephyrs  whispering  through  the  grass 

Lure  me  on  from  bliss  to  bliss; 
Here  thy  robe  is  rustling  close, 

There  thy  fluttering  lace  is  blown; 
All  the  tide  of  beauty  flows 

Tributary  to  thine  own. 

VI 

Birds  that  sleek  their  shining  throats 

Capture  every  curve  from  thee, 
All  their  golden  warbled  notes  — 

Fragments  of  thy  melody  — 
Crowding,  clustering,  one  by  one. 


40  FROM  THE  SHORE 

Build  it  upward,  spray  by  spray, 
Till  the  lavrock  in  the  sun 

Pours  thy  rapture  down  the  day. 

VII 

Silver  birch  and  purple  pine, 

Crumpled  fern  and  crimson  rose 
Flash  to  feel  their  beauty  thine, 

Clasp  and  fold  thee,  warm  and  close; 
Every  beat  and  gleam  of  wings 

Holds  thee  in  its  bosom  furled, 
All  that  chatters,  laughs  and  sings 

Darts  thy  sparkle  round  the  world. 

VIII 

LovBy  so  strangely  lost  and  found, 
Love,  beyond  these  Gates  of  Death, 

Love,  immortally  re-crowned, 

Love,  who  swayest  this  mortal  breath, 


FBOM  THE  SHOBE  41 

Sweetlier  to  thy  lover's  ear 

Steals  the  tale  that  ne'er  was  told  : 
Bright-eyes,  ah,  thine  arms  are  near, 

Nearer  now  than  e'er  of  old. 


THE  RETURN 

I 

O  HEDGES  white  with  laughing  may, 

O  meadows  where  we  met, 
This  heart  of  mine  must  break  to-day 

Unless  ye,  too,  forget. 

II 

Breathe  not  so  sweet,  breathe  not  so  sweet, 

But  swiftly  let  me  pass 
Across  the  fields  that  felt  her  feet 

In  the  old  time  that  was! 

Ill 
A  year  ago,  but  one  brief  year, 

0  happy  flowering  land, 
We  wandered  here  and  whispered  there 

And  hand  was  warm  in  hand. 

42 


THE  BETUBN  43 

IV 

0  crisp  white  clouds  beyond  the  hill, 

0  lavrock  in  the  skies, 
Why  do  ye  all  remember  still 

Her  bright  uplifted  eyes? 

V 

Red  heather  on  the  windy  moor, 

Wild  thyme  beside  the  way, 
White  jasmine  by  the  cottage  door, 

Harden  your  hearts  to-day. 

VI 

Smile  not  so  kind,  smile  not  so  kind, 

Thou  happy,  haunted  place. 
Or  thou  wilt  strike  these  poor  eyes  blind 

With  her  remembered  face. 


ON  A  RAILWAY  PLATFORM 

A  DRIZZLE  of  drifting  rain 

And  a  blurred  white  lamp  o'er  head, 
That  shines  as  my  love  will  shine  again, 

In  the  world  of  the  dead. 

Round  me  the  wet  black  night. 
And,  afar  in  the  Hmitless  gloom. 

Crimson  and  green,  two  blossoms  of  light, 
Two  stars  of  doom. 

But  the  night  of  death  is  a-flare 

With  a  torch  of  back-blown  fire 
And  the  coal-black  deeps  of  the  quivering  air 

Rend  for  my  soul's  desire. 

Leap,  heart,  for  the  pulse  and  the  roar 

And  the  lights  of  the  streaming  train 
44 


ON  A  BAILWAT  PLATFORM  45 

That  leaps  with  the  heart  of  thy  love  once  more 
Out  of  the  mist  and  the  rain ; 

For  the  thousand  panes  of  light 

And  the  faces  pale  with  mist 
Streaming  out  of  the  desolate  night 

In  ruby  and  amethyst; 

Out  of  the  desolate  years 

The  thundering  pageant  flows; 
But  I  see  no  more  than  a  window  of  tears 

Which  her  face  has  turned  to  a  rose. 


AN  OLD  SONG  ENDED 

How  should  I  your  true  love  know 

From  another  one?  — 
By  his  cockle-hat  and  staff 

And  his  sandal  shoon.  — 

Wherefore  hath  he  roamed  so  far, 
Lady,  from  your  hand?  — 

Love's  a  pilgrim,  and  he  comes 
Out  of  Holy  Land.  — 

Nay;  but  he  is  dead,  lady, 
He  is  dead  and  gone :  — 

Seek  his  grave  and  lay  your  face 
Down  upon  the  stone.  — 

Shall  I  find  him  if  he  sleep 

In  a  nameless  grave 
46 


AN  OLD   SONG  ENDED  47 

Where  over  many  and  many  an  one 
The  tall  wet  grasses  wave?  — 

Breathe  my  name  whereas  you  go. 

If  you  hear  a  sound 
Struggling  like  a  stifled  cry 

Underneath  the  ground, 

Whisper  but  a  word  to  him, 

Tell  him  my  despair: 
If  he  riseth  from  the  dead, 

Then  my  love  is  there. 


LOVE'S  GHOST 

I 

Thy  house  is  dark  and  still :  I  stand  once  more 

Beside  the  marble  door. 
It  opens  as  of  old !   Thy  pale,  pale  face 

Peers  thro'  the  narrow  space. 
Thy  hands  are  mine,  thy  hands  are  mine  to  hold, 

Just  as  of  old. 

II 
'  Hush  !  hush !  or  God  will  hear  us  !  Ah,  speak 

low 

As  Love  spake  long  ago.* 

'Sweet,  sweet,  are  these  thine  arms,  thy  breast, 

thy  hair 

Assuaging  my  despair. 

Assuaging  the  long  thirst,  quenching  the  tears 

Of  all  these  years? 
48 


love's  ghost  49 

III 

^Thy  house  is  deep  and  still:   God  cannot  hear; 

Sweet,  have  no  fear ! 
Are  not  thy  cold  lips  crushed  against  my  kiss? 

Love  gives  us  this. 
Not  God' ;   but  'Ah/  she  moans,  'God  hears  us ! 
Speak, 

Speak  low,  hide  cheek  on  cheek/ 

IV 

0,  then  what  eager  whisperings,  hoarded  long, 

Too  sweet  for  any  song. 
What  treasured  news  to  tell,  what  hopes,  what 
fears. 

Gleaned  from  the  barren  years. 
What  raptures  wrung  from  out  the  heart  of  pain, 

What  wild  farewells  again. 

V 

Whose    pity    is    this?    Ah,    quick,    one    kiss! 
Once  more 


60  love's  ghost 

Closes  the  marble  door ! 
I  grope  here  in  the  darkness  all  alone ! 

Across  the  cold  white  stone, 
Over  thy  tomb,  a  sudden  starlight  gleams: 

Death  gave  me  this  —  in  dreams. 


NIOBE 

I 

How  like  the  sky  she  bends  above  her  child, 
One  with  the  great  horizon  of  her  pain! 
No  sob  from  our  low  seas  where  woe  runs  wild, 

No  weeping  cloud,  no  momentary  rain, 
Can  mar  the  heaven-high  visage  of  her  grief. 
That  frozen  anguish,  proud,  majestic,  dumb ! 
She  stoops  in  pity  above  the  labouring  earth. 
Knowing  how  fond,  how  brief 
Is  all  its  hope,  past,  present  and  to  come. 
She  stoops  in  pity,  and  yearns  to  assuage 
its  dearth. 

n 

Through  that  fair  face  the  whole  dark  universe 

Speaks,  as  a  thorn-tree  speaks  thro'  one  white 

flower; 

51 


52  NIOBE 

And  all  those  wrenched  Promethean  souls  that 
curse 
The  gods,  but  cannot  die  before  their  hour, 
Find  utterance  in  her  beauty.    That  fair  head 
Bows  over  all  earth's  graves.     It  was  her  cry 
Men  heard  in  Rama  when  the  twisted  ways 
With  children's  blood  ran  red ! 
Her  silence  utters  all  the  sea  would  sigh; 
And,  in  her  face,  the  whole  earth's  anguish 
prays. 

Ill 
It  is  the  pity,  the  pity  of  human  love 
That  strains  her  face,  upturned  to  meet  the 
doom. 
And  her  deep  bosom,  like  a  snow-white  dove 

Frozen  upon  its  nest,  ne'er  to  resume 
Its  happy  breathing  o'er  the  golden  brace 
Whose  fostering  was  her  death.    Ay,  death 
alone 


NIOBE  53 

Can  break  the  anguished  horror  of  that 
spell ! 
The  sorrow  on  her  face 
Is  sealed ;  the  living  flesh  is  turned  to  stone : 
She  knows  all,  all  that  Life  and  Time  can 
tell. 

IV 

Ah,  yet,  her  woman's  love,  so  vast,  so  tender; 

Her  woman's  body,  hurt  by  every  dart; 
Braving  the  thunder,  still,  still  hide  the  slender 
Soft   frightened   child   beneath   her   mighty 
heart ! 
She  is  all  one  mute  immortal  cry,  one  brief 
Infinite  pang  of  such  victorious  pain 
That  she  transcends  the  heavens  and  bows 
them  down ! 
The  majesty  of  grief 
Is  hers,  and  her  dominion  must  remain 
Eternal.    God  nor  man  usurps  that  crown. 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TITANS 

Over  what  seemed  a  gulf  of  glimmering  sea, 

Huger  than  hugest  Himalay  arose 

Atlas,  on  weary  shoulders  heaving  dark 

The  burden  of  the  heavens,  the  heavy  broad 

Empurpled  floors  o'  the  roseate  golden  realm 

Unseen,  where  gods  like  living  light  in  light 

Flowed  and  forgot  the  sorrows  of  the  world. 

And  his  drooped  head  was  bowed  into  the  gloom, 

Bowed  like  a  mountain,  crushing  on  his  breast 

A  clotted  beard  of  many  pinewoods.     Dark, 

Immeasurably  dark  his  body's  bulk 

Sank  through  the  gulfs  of  Space;    but  pale  as 

death 

His  face  gleamed  over  Africa,  his  face, 

A  mask  of  living  marble,  bending  down 

Eyes  like  deep  wells  of  soft  compassionate  gloom. 
54 


THE  LAST  OF  TEE  TITANS  55 

His   cheeks   were   furrowed   and   writhen  like 

rain-washed  crags 
With  fierce  ravines  of  long  and  age-long  tears 
Whereon  the  pale  procession  of  the  stars 
That  round  him  moved  in  mockery  sometimes  cast 
A  dreary  light  of  anguish;    but  sometimes 
The  white  clouds  glimmering  crept  to  comfort 

him, 
And  to  be  comforted,  by  shutting  out 
The  keen  oppression  of  those  ghttering  ranks 
And  dread  eternities.    They  crept  hke  sheep 
Round  some  Titanic  shepherd.     In  his  breast 
They  nestled;    but  whene'er  his  mighty  hands 
In  love  would  draw  them  closer,  they  escaped, 
Eluded  the  fond  clasp. 
And,  ever  drawing  nigh  him  all  night  long, 
Wandered  away  for  ever  as  they  came. 
Beneath  him,  like  a  tawny  panther-skin 
The  great  Sahara  slept:   beyond  it  lay, 


56  THE  LAST  OF  THE  TITANS 

Parcelled  and  plotted  out  like  tiny  fields, 
The  princedoms  and  the  kingdoms  of  this  earth, 
Mountains  like  frozen  wrinkles  on  a  sea, 
And  seas  like  rain-pools  in  a  rutted  road 
Dwindling  beneath  his  loneliness.     Above 
The  chariots  of  ten  thousand  thousand  suns 
Conspired  to  make  him  lonelier  and  rolled 
Their  flaming  wheels  remote,  so  that  they  seemed, 
E'en  AUoth  and  Fomalhaut,  no  more 
Than  dust  of  diamonds  in  the  abysmal  gloom. 
So  from  a  huger  lonehness  he  gazed 
Over  the  world  where,  faint  as  morning  mists 
Drifting  thro'  shadowy  battles  on  the  hills. 
Drifting  thro'  many  a  pageant  touched  with  red, 
Cities  of  men  and  nations  passed  away. 

But  once,  from  out  a  crimson-glooming  dawn, 
A  light  appeared  as  of  a  distant  star 
Flying  towards  him,  growing  as  it  came; 


THE  LAST  OF  THE   TITANS  57 

Till  now  it  seemed  a  naked  youth  up-borne 
On  silver  dove-winged  sandals,  like  a  god. 
Then,  then  as  moans  the  thunder  through  the 

night, 
The  heart  of  Atlas  moaned  — 'Why  art  thou 

come 
To  look  upon  my  sorrow?    Nay,  I  know, 
Perseus,  thou  son  of  the  everlasting  gods, 
I  know  thee  who  thou  art !    Why  comest  thou 

thus 
To  mock  me  with  the  sight  of  that  high  hope 
Which  Atlas  never  knew?    Why  comest  thou 

thus 
In  youth  and  beauty  through  the  crimson  dawn  V 
And  Perseus  answered  gently  as  a  man 
Speaking  to  one  in  pain:    'I  did  not  come 
To  mock  thee,  lord:   I  come  to  seek  and  pluck 
The  heart  from  out  the  land  without  a  name. 
The  land  without  any  order,  where  the  hght 


58  THE  LAST  OF  THE  TITANS 

Is  even  as  darkness.    I  would  seek  and  slay 
Medusa  —  her  whose  foul  enchantments  draw 
Man's  heart  into  the  abominable  pit 
Strangled  and'  .  .  .then  that  other  —  'Many 

a  man, 
Yea,  many  a  hero  have  I  seen  go  by 
The  glory  of  whose  face  was  like  a  god's 
Upon  that  quest;   but  I  have  never  seen 
The  face  of  one  returning.    Knowest  thou  not 
So  terrible  is  the  tempest  of  her  beauty 
That  if  thine  eyes  but  look  upon  her  face 
Thy  flesh  and  soul  shall  stiffen  into  stone. 
Her  breasts  are  girt  about  with  triple  brass 
Against  all  mortal  steel.'     And  Perseus — 'Yea, 
I   know;    but   she  —  the   brightest   queen   of 

heaven  — 
Athena,  gave  me  mine  immortal  sword. 
The  sword  of  knowledge  that  can  shear  through 

brass 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TITANS  59 

And  triple  steel  as  lightning  cleaves  the  night. 

Athena  gave  me  mine  immortal  shield, 

The  shield  of  truth :  and,  mirrored  in  that  gleam, 

The  face  of  even  Medusa  hath  no  power 

To  hurt  me.     I  will  look  not  on  her  face 

Save  in  the  shield  of  truth :  I  shall  not  smite  her 

Save  with  the  sword  of  knowledge,  bathed  in 

heaven. 
I  pray  thee  show  me  now  that  bitter  road. 
My  death-road  as  thou  sayest;    for  I  will  go 
And  triumph  and  return.^    And  Atlas  said 
^Yea;   if  I  show  thee,  Perseus,  wilt  thou  give 
One  grace  if  thou  return,  one  gift  of  grace 
To  me,  world- wearied :  I  desire  to  rest. 
I  am  weary  of  bearing  this  exceeding  weight 
Of  gloom  eternal,  weary  of  searching  heaven 
With   prayers   for   pity,  weary  of   knowledge, 

weary 
Of  watching  little  men  a  little  hour 


60  THE  LAST  OF  THE  TITANS 

Beneath  the  pondering  of  prodigious  heavens 
Contend  Hke  ants  for  little  mole-hill  realms 
And  glow-worm  glories,  crowns  contemptible ; 
But  thou  can'st  give  me  peace,  if  thou  return. 
Nay,  Perseus,  I  will  tell  thee  when  thou  comest ; 
But  swear  as  thou  dost  love  thy  fatherland 
Thou'lt  not  deny  me  this  if  thou  return.' 
And  Perseus  swore  that  oath  with  steadfast  eyes, 
And  Atlas  pointed  out  the  baleful  road 
Across  the  shapeless  land  without  a  name. 

White  as  a  snow-flake  on  the  weird  black  wings 
Of  many  a  wind  fulfilled  with  hideous  dreams. 
Misshapen  horrors  of  the  ultimate  gloom,. 
He  flew,  till  as  they  gaped  with  threatening  jaws 
Of  flame  around  his  path  he  donned  the  helm 
Wrung  from  the  realms  of  Pluto,  the  dark  helm 
Wrought  in  the  lands  of  death,  which  whoso 
wears 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TITANS  61 

Is  bodiless  and  invisible  as  the  soul 

That  hath  gone  over  Lethe.     Him  no  more 

Can  death  affright  nor  mortal  doom  affray. 

League  after  league  he  sped  till  from  the  depths, 
Up  through  the  darkness  came  a  great  soft  sound 
Of  breathing,  like  the  breathing  of  the  sea; 
And,  shuddering,  he  upheld  the  polished  shield 
And  gazed  on  it  as  on  some  magic  moon 
Wherein  he  saw  the  glimmering  world  below 
Mirrored;    beheld  what  none  hath  ever  seen 
And  lived,  since  the  beginning  of  the  world. 
^0,  horrible,'  he  moaned,  '0,  beautiful. 
Beautiful  hell';   for  in  the  shield  he  saw 
Upon  what  seemed  a  plain  of  steaming  filth 
A  Titan  woman,  lying  supine  and  white; 
White  as  a  fallen  column  of  some  huge 
Temple  of  Ombos,  hugest  City  of  earth. 
Her  body  a  field  of  lilies  and  her  breasts 


62  THE  LAST  OF  THE  TITANS 

Two  snowy  hillocks  tipt  with  crimson  dawn; 
Her  flank  a  marble  buttress  beautiful 
Couched  in  the  foul  abyss;  her  regal  face 
Calm  with  the  leonine  languor  of  the  Sphinx. 
On  either  side,  close  huddled  to  her  flank 
And  in  the  steam  through  which  she  glimmered 

pale 
A  dark  shape,  indistinguishable  bulk 
Of  horror,  couched  with  laps  and  folds  of  skin 
Like  those  that  wrap  Behemoth ;  and  sometimes, 
Like  the  fierce  flashing  of  a  wrecker's  fire, 
There  came  a  glint  of  brazen  claws  and  wings. 
All  round  them  like  a  forest  swept  the  deep 
Empurpled  masses  of  her  tangled  hair. 
Anon  with  slow  and  sleepy  crimson  lips. 
Bright  as  with  blood  of  heroes,  her  face  turned 
Smiling  to  greet  each  horror  with  a  kiss; 
And,  as  she  turned,  her  beauty's  palace  heaved 
One  rosy  marble  buttress  from  the  filth 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TITANS  63 

Luxuriously  a  little,  the  other  sank 
And  wallowed  deeper.    Suddenly  her  eyes 
Opened  in  childhke  innocence.    The  dark 
Mass  of  her  hair  shook  round  her  like  a  sea. 
Its  purple  clouds  all  clotted  and  congealed ! 
And  lo,  the  primal  serpents  of  the  slime 
Huger  than  Python,  hissing,  upward  curled 
And  floated  round  her,  coil  on  heavy  coil, 
Beautiful  in  their  horror  as  they  cast 
Shadows  like  grape-bloom  o'er  her  breasts'  white 

snow 
And  swayed  their  bloated  throats :  and  then  a 

voice 
From  distances  beyond  the  abode  of  gods 
Cried,  This  is  She,  the  Ahominahle,  the  Queen 
Of  dissolute  chaos,  knowing  not  evil  or  good, 
Queen  of  all  dark  adulteries.  Mother  of  shame. 
Mother  of  falsehood,  Mother  of  treachery. 
Mother  of  jealousy.  Mother  of  blood  and  tears, 


64  THE  LAST  OF  THE  TITANS 

Queen  of  the  ultimate  darkness.     At  that  voice 
Young  Perseus   gripped   the   bright    immortal 

sword 
Which  grave  grey-eyed  Athena  gave  him,  gazed 
Steadfastly  on  the  shield  and  floated  down 
Quietly  as  a  star-beam  into  hell. 
Then,  with  one  prayer  to  the  everlasting  gods, 
Across  the  roseate  hollow  of  her  throat 
He  smote  !    The  immortal  blade  like  hght  thro' 

darkness 
Flashed,  and  the  blood  rolled  hissing  o'er  the 

filth; 
And  wheresoe'er  it  curled  a  serpent  rose 
Hissing  a-gape;   then  with  one  hideous  clap 
Of  thunder  those  two  monstrous  bulks  arose, 
Mountainous,  like  two  foul  prodigious  swine 
From  out  their  wallowing  beds  i'  the  clinging 

mire; 
And  from  what  seemed  their  eyes  a  ruddy  light 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TITANS  65 

Of  vengeance  flashed,  as  of  wild  crimson  torches 
Far-sunken  in  a  thick  and  savage  wood, 
Yet  imminent;  but  Perseus,  with  one  hand 
Clutching  the  tangled  gloom  of  that  dire  head 
Soared  upward  and  the  silver  sandals  bore 
The  hero  and  his  burden  far  away. 
And  though  with  heavy  clang  of  brazen  wings 
The    Gorgons    followed,    soon    they    dropped 

behind 
And  loomed  no  larger  than  two  carrion  flies 
Against  the  red  horizon;   and  at  last 
Decayed  from  sight.    And  onward  Perseus  came 
Triumphantly,  a  light  upon  his  face 
As  of  a  god  returning,  till  he  saw 
The  mighty  shoulders  of  the  world-worn  king 
Atlas,  above  what  seemed  a  glimmering  sea. 
And  up  to  the  grim  worn  face,  furrowed  with 

tears 
He  sped,  according  to  his  vow;   and  Atlas 


66  THE  LAST  OF  THE  TITANS 

Moaned  like  a  distant  thunder,  ^Art  thou  come, 
Perseus,  thou  son  of  the  everlasting  gods? 
Lift  up  the  head  and  let  me  look  upon  it; 
For  I  desire  to  rest.'    And  Perseus  raised 
The  cold  head  of  Medusa,  which  no  man 
Had  seen  and  hved;   and  Atlas  looked 
With  weary  hungering  eyes  upon  her  face. 
And  lo,  a  sleep  of  stone,  an  iron  rest 
And  everlasting  quiet  sealed  his  eyes. 
His  cheeks  were  furrowed  and  writhen  rain- 
washed  crags. 
And  his  drooped  head  was  bowed  into  the  gloom, 
A  granite  mountain,  crushing  on  its  breast 
A  clotted  beard  of  many  pinewoods.    Still 
Round  him  the  clouds  like  wandering  flocks  of 

sheep 
Around  some  mighty  shepherd  creeping  close 
Nestled  against  his  breast ;  and  all  was  peace. 


THE  RIDE  OF  PHAETHON 

I 
Forth,  from  the  portals,  flow  the  four  immortal 
steeds 
Tossing  the  splendour  of  their  manes. 
While  the  dazzled  Phaethon  reels  o'er  the  flash- 
ing golden  wheels 
Grasping  the  fourfold  reins. 

II 

Ah,  beneath  the  burning  hooves  how  the  dark- 
ness cowers  down 
As  the  great  steeds  mount  and  soar; 
How  the  twilight  springs  away  from  the  wheels 
like  spray 
And  the  night  like  a  battle-broken  host  is 
driven  before. 

67 


68  THE  BIBE  OF  PHAETHON 

III 

And  swifter  now,  ah,  swift,  as  the  eight  great 
shoulders  hft 
And  leap  up  the  rolling  sky, 
And  the  steeds  in  whitest  glory  ramp  and  trample 
on  the  night 
And   the    quivering   haunches   thrust,    they 
mount  and  fly. 

IV 

Ah,  the  beauty  of  their  scorn !    How  the  blood- 
red  nostrils  burn. 
Breathing  out  the  dawn  and  the  day; 
How  the  long  cloud  ranks  foam  in  fury  from 
their  flanks 
And  the  heavens  for  their  hooves  make  way. 

V 

And  higher  now  and  higher,  thro'  a  sea  of  cloudy 
fire 
The  chariot  sways  and  swings, 


THE  RIDE  OF  PHAETHON  69 

And  the  heart  of  Phaethon  leaps,  as  up  the 
radiant  steeps 
They  surge,  and  drunk  with  triumph,  he  lifts 
his  head  and  sings. 

VI 

He  sings,  he  sways  and  reels  o'er  the  flashing 
golden  wheels. 
For  he  sees  far,  far  below, 
The  little  dwindling  earth  and  the  land  that  gave 
him  birth 
And  the  Northlands  white  with  snow. 

VII 

And  he  shakes  the  maddened  reins  o'er  the 
gleaming  seas  and  plains 
And  the  chariot  swings  and  sways. 
Swifter,  swifter  he  would  fly  than  the  Master  of 
the  sky. 
The  Lord  of  the  sunbeams  and  bays. 


70  THE  BIDE  OF  PHAETHON 

VIII 

And  each  high  immortal  steed  that  had  never 
known  the  need 
Of  Apollo's  lash  or  goad, 
Tossed  the  cataract  of  its  mane  o'er  its  quivering 
croup  again        ' '  % 
And  ramped  on  the  sun-bright  road. 

IX 

Beautiful,  insolent,  fierce. 

For  an  instant,  a  whirlwind  of  radiance, 
Tossing  their  manes. 

Rampant  over  the  dazzled  universe 
They  struggled,  while  Phaethon,  Phaethon  tugged 
at  the  reins. 

X 

Then,  like  a  torrent,  a  tempest  of  splendour,  a 
hurricane  rapture  of  wrath  and  derision 
Down  they  galloped,  a  great  white  thunder  of 
glory,  down  the  terrible  sky; 


THE  BIDE  OF  PHAETHON  71 

Till  earth  with  her  rivers  and  seas  and  meadows 

broadened,  and  filled  up  the  field  of  their 

vision 

And  mountains  leapt  from  the  plains  to  meet 

them,  and  all  the  forests  and  fields  drew  nigh. 

XI 

All  the  bracken  and  grass   of   the  mountains 
flamed  and  the  valleys  of  corn  were  wasted, 
All  the  blossoming  forests  of  Africa  withered 
and  shrivelled  beneath  their  flight; 
Then,  then  first,  those  ambrosial  Edens  of  old  by 
the  wheels  of  the  Sun  were  blasted, 
Leaving  a  dread  Sahara,  lonely,  burnt  and 
blackened  to  greet  the  night. 

XII 

Upward  they  swerved  and  swooped  once  more, 
the  great  white  steeds,  outstretched  at  the 
gallop. 


72  THE  RIDE  OF  PHAETHON 

The  round  earth  dwindled  beneath  their 
flight,  the  mighty  chariot  swayed  and 
swung 
Under  the  feet  of  the  charioteer,  it  swung  and 
swayed  as  a  storm-swept  shallop 
Tosses  and  leaps  in  the  seas,  and  Phaethon, 
cowering,  close  to  the  sides  of  it  clung. 

XIII 

For  now  to  the  stars,  to  the  stars,  they  surged, 
and  the  earth  was  a  dwindling  gleam  there- 
under. 
Yea,  now  to  the  home  of  the  Father  of  gods, 
and  he  rose  in  the  wrath  that  none  can  quell, 

Beholding  the  mortal  charioteer,  and  the  rolling 
heavens  were  rent  with  his  thunder. 
And    Phaethon,    smitten,    reeled    from    the 
chariot !    Backward  and  out  of  it,  headlong 
he  fell. 


THE  BIDE  OF  PHAETHON  73 

XIV 

Down,  down,  down,  down  from  the  glittering 
heights  of  the  firmament  hurled 
Like  a  falling  star,  in  a  circle  of  fire,  down  the 
sheer  abysm  of  doom, 
Down  to  the  hiss  and  the  heave  of  the  seas  far 
out  on  the  ultimate  verge  of  the  world. 
That  leapt  with  a  roar  to  meet  him,  he  fell, 
and  they  covered  him  o'er  with  their  glori- 
ous gloom. 
Covered  him  deep  with  their  rolling  gloom, 
Their  depths  of  pitiful  gloom. 


THE  EMPIRE-BUILDERS 

Who  are  the  Empire-builders?    They 

Whose  desperate  arrogance  demands 
A  self-reflecting  power  to  sway 

A  hundred  little  selfless  lands  ? 
Lord  God  of  battles,  ere  we  bow 

To  these  and  to  their  soulless  lust, 
Let  fall  thy  thunders  on  us  now 

And  strike  us  equal  to  the  dust. 

Before  the  stars  in  heaven  were  made 
Our  great  Commander  led  us  forth ; 

And  now  the  embattled  lines  are  laid 
To  East;  to  West,  to  South,  to  North; 

According  as  of  old  He  planned 

We  take  our  station  in  the  field, 
74 


THE  EMPIRE-BUILDERS  75 

Nor  dare  to  dream  we  understand 
The  splendour  of  the  swords  we  wield. 

We  know  not  what  the  Soul  intends 

That  lives  and  moves  behind  our  deeds; 
We  wheel  and  march  to  glorious  ends 

Beyond  the  common  soldier's  needs: 
And  some  are  raised  to  high  rewards, 

And  some  by  regiments  are  hurled 
To  die  upon  the  opposing  swords 

And  sleep  —  forgotten  by  the  world. 

And  not  where  navies  churn  the  foam, 

Nor  called  to  fields  of  fierce  emprise, 
In  many  a  country  cottage-home. 

The  Empire-builder  lives  and  dies: 
Or  through  the  roaring  street  he  goes    • 

A  lean  and  weary  City  slave 
The  conqueror  of  a  thousand  foes 

Who  walks,  unheeded,  to  his  grave. 


76  THE  EMPIRE-BUILDEB8 

Leaders  unknown  of  hopes  forlorn 

Go  past  us  in  the  daily  mart, 
With  many  a  shadowy  crown  of  thorn 

And  many  a  kingly  broken  heart: 
Though  England's  banner  overhead 

Ever  the  secret  signal  flew, 
We  only  see  its  Cross  is  red 

As  children  see  the  skies  are  blue. 

For  all  are  Empire-builders  here. 

Whose  hearts  are  true  to  heaven  and  home 
And,  year  by  slow  revolving  year. 

Fulfil  the  duties  as  they  come; 
So  simple  seems  the  task,  and  yet 

Many  for  this  are  crucified; 
Ay,  and  their  brother-men  forget 

The  simple  wounds  in  palm  and  side. 

For  hearts  that  to  their  home  are  true 
Where'er  the  tides  of  power  may  flow, 


THE   EMPIRE-BUILDEB8  77 

Have  built  a  kingdom  great  and  new 
Which  Time  nor  Fate  shall  overthrow; 

These  are  the  Empire-builders,  these 
Annex  where  none  shall  say  them  nay, 

Beyond  the  world's  uncharted  seas, 
Realms  that  can  never  pass  away. 


NELSON'S  YEAR  — 1905 

I 

'New  Year,  be  good  to  England !' 
This  year,  a  hundred  years  ago, 
The  world  attended,  breathless,  on  the  gathermg 
pomp  of  war. 
While  England  and  her   deathless   dead, 
with  all  their  mighty  hearts  aglow, 
Swept  onward  like  the  dawn  of  doom  to  triumph 
at  Trafalgar; 
Then  the  world  was  hushed  to  wonder 
As  the  cannon's  dying  thunder 
Broke  out  again  in  muffled  peals  across  the 
heaving  sea, 
And  home  the  Victor  came  at  last. 
Home,  home,  with  England's  flag  half- 
mast, 

78 


NELSON'S  TEAR  —  1905  79 

That  never  dipped  to  foe  before,  on  Nelson's 
Victory. 

II 

God  gave  this  year  to  England ; 

And  what  God  gives  He  takes  again ; 
God  gives  us   Hfe,  God  gives   us   death:  our 
victories  have  wings. 
He  gives  us  love  and  in  its  heart  He  hides 
the  whole  world's  heart  of  pain  I 
We  gain  by  loss :  impartially  the  eternal  balance 
swings ! 
Ay ;  in  the  fire  we  cherish 
Our  thoughts  and  dreams  may  perish; 
Yet  shall  it  bum  for  England's  sake  triumphant 
as  of  old ! 
What  sacrifice  could  gain  for  her 
Our  own  shall  still  maintain  for  her 
And  hold  the  gates  of  freedom  wide  that  take  no 
keys  of  gold. 


80  nelson's   tear  — 1905 

III 
God  gave  this  year  to  England; 
Her  eyes  are  far  too  bright  for  tears 
Of  sorrow;   by  her  silent  dead  she  kneels,  too 
proud  for  pride; 
Their  blood,  their  love,  have  bought  her 
right  to  claim  the  new  imperial  years 
In  England's  name  for  Freedom,  in  whose  love 
her  children  died; 
In  whose  love,  though  hope  may  dwindle, 
Love  and  brotherhood  shall  kindle 
Between  the  striving  nations  as  a  choral  song 
takes  fire. 
Till  new  hope,  new  faith,  new  wonder 
Cleave  the  clouds  of  doubt  asunder. 
And  speed  the  union  of  mankind  in  one  divine 
desire. 

IV 

Hasten  the  Kingdom,  England ; 
This  year  across  the  listening  world 


nelson's   tear  —  1905  81 

There  came  a  sound  of  mingled  tears  where 
victory  and  defeat 
Clasped  hands;    and  Peace  —  among  the 
dead  —  stood    wistfully,   with    white 
wings  furled, 
Knowing  the  strife  was  idle;  for  the  night  and 
morning  meet, 
Yet  there  is  no  disunion 
In  heaven's  divine  communion 
As  through  the  gates  of  twilight  the  harmonious 
morning  pours ; 
Ah,  God  speed  that  grander  morrow 
When  the  world's  divinest  sorrow 
Shall  show  how  Love  stands  knocking  at  the 
world's  unopened  doors. 

V 

Hasten  the  Kingdom,  England !  .  • 

Look  up  across  the  narrow  seas, 

G 


82  nelson's   YEAB  —  1905 

Across  the  great  white  nations  to  thy  dark 
imperial  throne 
Where  now  three  hundred  million  souls 
attend  on  thine  august  decrees 
Ah,  bow  thine  head  in  humbleness,  the  Kingdom 
is  thine  own: 
Not  for  the  pride  or  power 
God  gave  thee  this  in  dower; 
But,  now  the  West  and  East  have  met  and  wept 
their  mortal  loss. 
Now  that  their  tears  have  spoken 
And  the  long  dumb  spell  is  broken. 
Is  it  nothing  that  thy  banner  bears  the  red 
eternal  cross  ? 

VI 

Ay !  Lift  the  flag  of  England ; 
And  lo,  that  Eastern  cross  is  there. 
Veiled  with  a  hundred  meanings  as  our  English 
eyes  are  veiled; 


nelson's   tear  —  1905  83 

Yet  to  the  grander  dawn  we  move  oblivi- 
ous of  the  sign  we  bear, 
Oblivious  of  the  heights  we  climb  until  the  last 
is  scaled  ; 
Then  with  all  the  earth  before  us 
And  the  great  cross  floating  o'er  us 
We  shall  break  the  sword  we  forged  of  old,  so 
weak  we  were  and  blind; 
While  the  inviolate  heaven  discloses 
England's  Rose  of  all  the  roses 
Dawning  wide  and  ever  wider  o'er  the  kingdom 
of  mankind. 

VII 

Hasten  the  Kingdom,  England; 
For  then  all  nations  shall  be  one; 
One  as  the  ordered  stars  are  one  that  sing  upon 
their  way. 
One  with  the  rhythmic  glories  of  the  swing- 
ing sea  and  the  rolling  sun. 


84  nelson's  teab  —  wos 

One  with  the  flow  of  life  and  death,  the  tides  of 
night  and  day; 
One  with  all  dreams  of  beauty, 
One  with  all  laws  of  duty ; 
One  with  the  weak  and  helpless  while  the  one 
sky  burns  above; 
Till  eyes  by  tears  made  glorious 
Look  up  at  last  victorious 
And  lips  that  starved  break  open  in  one  song  of 
life  and  love. 

VIII 

'New  Year,  be  good  to  England;' 
And  when  the  Spring  returns  again 
Rekindle  in  our  English  hearts  the  universal 
Spring, 
That  we  may  wait  in  faith  upon  the  former 
and  the  latter  rain, 
Till  all  waste  places  burgeon  and  the  wildernesses 
sing; 


nelson's   tear  —  1905  85 

Pour  the  glory  of  thy  pity 
Through  the  dark  and  troubled  city; 
Pour  the  splendour  of  thy  beauty  over  wood  and 
meadow  fair ; 
May  the  God  of  battles  guide  thee 
And  the  Christ-child  walk  beside  thee 
With  a  word  of  peace  for  England  in  the  dawn 
of  Nelson's  Year. 


IN    TIME    OF    WAR 

I 

To-night  o'er  Bagshot  heath  the  purple  heather 
Rolls  like  dumb  thunder  to  the  splendid  West ; 

And  mighty  ragged  clouds  are  massed  together 
Above  the  scarred  old  common's  broken 
breast; 

And   there   are   hints   of   blood   between   the 
boulders, 
Red  glints  of  fiercer  blossom,  bright  and  bold; 
And  round  the  shaggy  mounds  and  sullen  shoul- 
ders 
The  gorse  repays  the  sun  with  savage  gold. 

And  now,  as  in  the  West  the  light  grows  holy. 
And  all  the  hollows  of  the  heath  grow  dim, 

86 


IN  TIME  OF  WAR  87 

Far  off,  a  sulky  rumble  rolls  up  slowly 
Where  guns  at  practice  growl  their  evening 
hymn. 

And  here  and  there  in  bare  clean  yellow  spaces 
The  print  of  horse-hoofs  Hke  an  answering  cry 

Strikes  strangely  on  the  sense  from  lonely  places 
Where  there  is  nought  but  empty  heath  and 
sky. 

The  print  of  warlike  hoofs,  where  now  no  figure 
Of  horse  or  man  along  the  sky's  red  rim 

Breaks  on  the  low  horizon's  rough  black  rigour 
To  make  the  gorgeous  waste  less  wild  and 
grim; 

Strangely    the    hoof-prints    strike,    a   Crusoe's 
wonder, 
Framed  with  sharp  furze  amongst  the  footless 
fells 


88  IN  TIME  OF  WAR 

A  menace  and  a  mystery,  rapt  asunder, 
As  if  the  whole  wide  world  contained  nought 
else, — 

Nought  but  the  grand  despair  of  desolation 

Between  us  and  that  wild,  how  far,  how  near, 
Where,  clothed  with  thunder,  nation  grapples 
nation, 
And  Slaughter  grips  the  clay-cold  hand  of 
Fear. 

II 

And  far  above  the  purple  heath  the  sunset  stars 
awaken. 
And  ghostly  hosts  of  cloud  across  the  West 
begin  to  stream. 
And  all  the  low  soft  winds  with  muffled  cannon- 
ades are  shaken. 
And  all  the  blood-red  blossom  draws  aloof 
into  a  dream: 


IN  TIME  OF  WAR  89 

A  dream  —  no  more  —  and  round  the  dream  the 
clouds  are  curled  together; 
A  dream  of  two  great  stormy  hosts  embat- 
tled in  the  sky; 
For  there  against  the  low  red  heavens  each 
purple  clump  of  heather 
Becomes  a  serried  host  of  spears  around  a 
battle-cry; 

Becomes  the  distant  battle-field  or  brings  the 
dream  so  near  it 
That,  almost,  as  the  purple  smoke  around 
them  reels  and  swims, 
A  thousand  grey-Hpped  faces  flash  —  ah,  hark, 
-      the  heart  can  hear  it  — 
The  sharp  command,  the  clash  of  steel,  the 
sudden  sough  of  limbs. 

And  through  the  purple  thunders  there  are  silent 
shadows  creeping 


90  IJSr  TIME  OF  WAR 

With  murderous  gleams  of  light,  and  then  — 

a  mighty  leaping  roar 
Where  foe  and  foe  are  met ;  and  then  —  a  long 

low  sound  of  weeping 
As  Death  laughs  out  from  sea  to  sea,  another 

fight  is  o'er. 

Another  fight  —  but  ah,  how  much  is  over  ? 
Night  descending 
Draws  o'er  the  scene  her  ghastly  moon-shot 
veil  with  piteous  hands; 
But  all  around  the  bivouac-glare  the  shadowy 
pickets  wending 
See  sights,  hear  sounds  that  only  war's  own 
madness  understands. 

No  circle  of  the  accursed  dead  where  dreaming 
Dante  wandered. 
No  city  of  death's  eternal  dole  could  match 
this  mortal  world 


IN  TIME  OF  WAR  91 

Where  men,  before  the  living  soul  and  quivering 
flesh  are  sundered, 
Through  all  the  bestial  shapes  of  pain  to  one 
wide  grave  are  hurled. 

But  in  the  midst  for  those  who  dare  beyond  the 
fringe  to  enter 
Be  sure  one  kingly  figure  lies  with  pale  and 
blood-soiled  face, 
And  round  his  brows  a  ragged  crown  of  thorns; 
and  in  the  centre 
Of  those  pale  folded  hands  and  feet  the  sigil 
of  his  grace. 

See,  how  the  pale  limbs,  marred  and  scarred  in 

love's  lost  battle,  languish; 
See  how  the    splendid  passion    still    smiles 

quietly  from  his  eyes; 
Come,  come  and  see  a  king  indeed,  who  triumphs 

in  his  anguish, 


92  IN  TIME  OF  WAR 

Who  conquers  here  in  utter  loss  beneath  the 
eternal  skies. 

For  unto  lips  so  deadly  calm  what  answer  shall 
be  given? 
Oh  pale,  pale  king  so  deadly  still  beneath  the 
unshaken  stars, 
Who   shall   deny   thy   kingdom   here,    though 
heaven  and  earth  were  riven 
With  the  last  roar  of  onset  in  the  world's 
intestine  wars  ? 

All  round  him  reeks  the  obscene  red  hell  —  the 
scream  of  haggled  horses. 
The  curse,  the  moan,  the  tossing  arms,  the 
hideous  twisted  forms. 
Where,  as  the  surgeons  call  up  life's  last  pitiful 
resources. 
The  darkness  heaves  around  them  like  a  mass 
of  mangled  worms. 


m  TIME  OF  WAB  93 

^Life,   doctor,   life!'    ^Be   wise;    you'd  better 
die :  'twill  soon  be  over/  — 
The  blackened  trunk  drops  guttering  back,  the 
mouth  is  dumb  again: 
*  What  use  were  life  to  you,  my  lad  ?  she  wouldn't 
know  her  lover. 
And  cruelty  here  is  pity's  best  —  to  put  you 
out  of  pain.' 

And  far  away  in  lonely  homes  the  lamp  of  hope 

is  burning. 
All  night  the  white-faced  women  wait  with 

aching  eyes  of  prayer. 
All  night  the  little  children  dream  of  father's 

glad  returning; 

All  night  he  lies  beneath  the  stars  and  — 
dreams  no  more  out  there. 

Only  the  senseless  clay-cold  hand  may  clasp 
some  crumpled  letter,  — 


94  IN  TIME  OF  WAB 

A  lantern  —  see  —  the  big  round  scrawl,  the 

child's  long-studied  phrase' 
'  When  Dadda  comes  again  ...  his  girl  will  try 

so  much  much  better : 
She'll  be  much  taller,  too;    and  much  more 

grown  up  in  her  ways.' 

The  laugh  is  Death's;  he  laughs  as  erst  o'er 
hours  that  England  cherished, 
^  Count  up,  count  up  the  stricken  homes  that 
wail  the  first-born  son. 
Count  by  your  starved  and  fatherless  the  tale 
of  what  hath  perished ; 
Then  gather  with  your  foes  and  ask  if  you  — 
or  I  —  have  won.' 

Ill 

O'er  Bagshot  heath  it  rolls,  the  old  old  story,  — 
The   great   moon   dawns;    the   sunset   dies 
away; 


IN  TIME  OF  WAR  95 

Year  strengthens  year  as  glory  kindles  glory 
From  its  own  sad  procession  of  decay. 

When  shall  the  sun-dawn  of  the  perfect  nation, 
Rise  pure  and  white  above  the  blood-red  sea; 

When  shall  war  die  and  by  death's  new  creation 
Begin  the  long-sought  world-wide  harmony? 

Nearer,  still  nearer  creeps  the  light  we  hope  for, 
Yet  still  eludes  our  war-worn  aching  eyes : 

Nearer,  still  nearer,  steals  the  truth  we  grope  for, 
Yet,  as  we  think  to  grasp  it,  fades  and  flies. 

The  world  rolls  on;  and  love  and  peace  are  mated: 
Still  on  the  breast  of  England,  like  a  star, 

The  blood-red  lonely  heath  blows,  consecrated, 
A  brooding  practice-ground  for  blood-red  war. 

Yet  is  there  nothing  out  of  tune  with  Nature 
There,  where  the  skylark  showers  his  earliest 
song, 


96  IN  TIME  OF  WAR 

Where  sun  and  wind  have  moulded  every  feature, 
And  one  world-music  bears  each  note  along. 

There  many  a  brown-winged  kestrel  swoops  or 
hovers 

In  poised  and  patient  quest  of  his  own  prey; 
And  there  are  fern-clad  glens  where  happy  lovers 

May  kiss  the  murmuring  summer  noon  away. 

There,  as  the  primal  earth  was  —  all  is  glorious 

Perfect  and  wise  and  wonderful  in  view 
Of  that  great  heaven  through  which  we  rise 
victorious 
O'er  all  that  strife  and  change  and  death  can 
do. 
No  nation  yet  has  risen  o'er  earth's  first  nature ; 

Though  love  illumed  each  individual  mind, 
Still,    like    some    dark    half-formed  primeval 
creature 
The  fierce  mob  crawled  a  thousand  years  be- 
hind. 


m  TIME  OF  WAR  97 

Still  on  the  standards  of  the  great  World-Powers 
Lion  and  bear  and  eagle  sullenly  brood, 

Whether  the  slow  folds  flap  o'er  halcyon  hours 
Or  stream  tempestuously  o'er  fields  of  blood. 

By  war's  red  evolution  we  have  risen 
Far,  since  fierce  Erda  chose  her  conquering 
few, 
And  out  of  Death's  red  gates  and  Time's  grey 
prison 
They  burst,  elect  from  battle,  tried  and  true, 

Tempered  like  sword-blades;    but  life's  vast 
procession 
Has  passed  beyond  the  help  of  war's  wild  day. 
The  day  where  now  a  world  in  retrogression 
Goes  hurrying  down  the  broad  and  hopeless 
way. 

For  now  Death  mocks  at  youth  and  love  and 
glory, 

H 


98  IN  TIME  OF  WAR 

Chivalry  slinks  behind  his  loaded  mines, 

With  meaner  murderous  lips  War  tells  her  story, 
And  round  her  cunning  brows  no  laurel  shines. 

And  here  to  us  the  eternal  charge  is  given 
To  rise  and  make  our  low  world  touch  God's 
high: 
To    hasten   God's   own   kingdom,  Man's   own 
heaven, 
And  teach  Love's  grander  army  how  to  die. 

No  kingdom  then,  no  long-continuing  city 
Shall  e'er  again  be  stablished  by  the  sword; 

No  blood-bought  throne  defy  the  powers  of  pity. 
No  despot's  crown  outweigh  one  helot's  word. 

Imperial  England,  breathe  thy  marching  orders : 
The  great  host  waits ;  the  end,  the  end  is  close. 

When  earth  shall  know  thy  peace  in  all  her 
borders. 
And  all  her  deserts  blossom  with  thy  Rose. 


IN  TIME  OF  WAR  99 

Princedoms  and  peoples  rise  and  flash  and  perish 

As  the  dew  passes  from  the  flowering  thorn ; 
Yet  the  one  Kingdom  that  our  dreams  still 
cherish 
Lives  in  a  light  that   blinds  the  world's  red 
morn. 

Hasten  the  Kingdom,  England,  the  days  darken; 
We  would  not  have  thee  slacken  watch  or 
ward, 
Nor  doff  thine  armour  till  the  whole  world 
hearken. 
Nor  till  Time  bid  thee  lay  aside  the  sword. 

Hasten  the  Kingdom;  hamlet,  heath,  and  city. 
We  are  all  at  war,  one  bleeding  bulk  of  pain ; 

Little  we  know;  but  one  thing — by  God's  pity — 
We  know,  and  know  all  else  on  earth  is  vain. 

We  know  not  yet  how  much  we  dare,  how  little ; 
We  dare  not  dream  of  peace ;  yet,  as  at  need. 


100  IN  TIME  OF  WAR 

England,  God  help  thee,  let  no  jot  or  tittle 
Of  Love's  last  law  go  past  thee  without  heed. 

Who  saves  his  life  shall  lose  it !    The  great  ages 
Bear  witness  —  Rome  and  Babylon  and  Tyre 

Cry  from  the  dust-stopped  lips  of  all  their  sages, 
There  is  no  hope  if  man  can  climb  no  higher. 

England,  by  God's  grace  set  apart  to  ponder 

A  little  while  from  battle,  ah,  take  heed. 
Keep  watch,  keep  watch,  beside  thy  sleeping 
thunder; 
Call  down  Christ's  pity  while  those  others 
bleed; 

Waken  the  God  within  thee,  while  the  sorrow 
Of  battle  surges  round  a  distant  shore, 

While  Time  is  thine,  lest  on  some  deadly  mor- 
row 
The  moving  finger  write  —  hut  thine  no  more. 


IN  TIME  OF  WAR  101 

Little  we  know  —  but  though  the  advancing 
aeons 
Win  every  painful  step  by  blood  and  fire, 
Though  tortured  mouths  must  chant  the  world^s 
great  paeans, 
And  martyred  souls  proclaim  the  world's  de- 
sire; 

Though  war  be  nature's  engine  of  rejection, 
Soon,  soon,  across  her  universal  verge 

The  great  surviving  host  of  Time's  election 
Shall  into  God's  diviner  light  emerge. 

Hasten    the    Kingdom,    England,    queen   and 

mother; 

Little  we  know  of  all  Time's  works  and  ways ; 

Yet   this,    this,   this   is   sure:    we   need   none 

other 

Knowledge  or  wisdom,  hope  or  aim  or  praise, 


102  IN  TIME  OF  WAB 

But  to  keep  this  one  stormy  banner  flying 
In  this  one  faith  that  none  shall  e'er  dis- 
prove, 
Then  drive  the  embattled  world  before  thee, 
crying, 
There  is  one  Emperor,  whose  name  is  Love. 


TO  ENGLAND  IN  1907 

(a  prayer  that  she  might  speak  for  peace) 

I 
Now  is  thy  foot  set  on  the  splendid  wayl 
Hold  this  hour  fast,  though  yet  the  skies  be  grey: 
Lift  up  thy  voice  to  greet  the  perfect  day, 
Speak,  England,  speak  across  the  trembling 
sea. 

E'en  now  the  grandest  dawn  that  ever  rose 
Is  flooding  heaven  with  glory:   the  light  grows 
White  as  a  star  where  thy  keen  helmet  glows 
Fronting  the  morn  that  sets  all  nations  free. 

Ill 

Speak,  from  thine  island  throne !    Here,  in  thy 

Gate, 

Now,  for  thy  voice  alone,  the  nations  wait: 
103 


104  TO  ENGLAND  IN  1907 

Speak,  with  the  heart  that  made  and  keeps  thee 
great, 
Speak  the  great  word  of  peace  from  sea  to  sea. 

IV 

The  nations  wait,  scarce  knowing  what  they 

need: 
Cold  cunning  claims  their  ears  for  lust  and  greed  ! 
The  poor  and  weak,  with  struggling  hands  that 

bleed 
Pray  to  thee  now  that  thou  wilt  set  them  free. 

V 

Thou  that  hast  dared  so  many  a  thunder-blast 
Is  all  thy  vaunted  empery  so  soon  past? 
First  of  the  first,  art  thou  afraid  at  last 
To  hold  thy  hands  out  first  across  the  sea? 

VI 

Not  for  such  fears  God  gave  thee  thy  rich  dower, 
The  sea-wrought  sceptre  and  the  imperial  power ! 


TO  ENGLAND  IN  1907  105 

Ages  have  poured  their  blood  for  this  one  hour 
That  thou  might'st  speak  and  set  the  whole 
world  free. 

VII 

The  poor  and  weak  uplift  their  manacled  hands 
To  thee,  our  Mother,  our  Lady  and  Queen  of 

lands : 
Anguished  in  prayer  before  thy  footstool  stands 
Peace,  with  her  white  wings  glimmering  o'er 

the  sea. 

VIII 

Others  may  shrink  whose  naked  frontiers  face 
A  million  foemen  of  an  alien  race; 
But  thou.  Imperial,  by  thy  pride  of  place, 
0,  canst  thou  falter  or  fear  to  set  them  free? 

IX 

Thou,  thou  alone  canst  speak ;  thou,  thou  alone, 
From  the  sure  citadel  of  thy  rock-bound  throne : 


106  TO  ENGLAND  IN  1907 

Trust  thy  strong  heart ;  thine  island  is  thine  own, 
Girt  with  the  thunder  and  lightning  of  the  sea. 

X 

Fools  prate  of  pride  where  butchered  legions  fall; 
Peace  has  one  battle  sterner  than  them  all, 
(England,  on  thee  our  ringing  trumpets  call !) 
One  battle  that  shall  set  the  whole  world  free. 

XI 

Speak,  speak  and  act !    The  sceptre  is  in  thine 

hand ; 
Proclaim  the  reign  of  love  from  land  to  land ; 
Then,  come  the  world  against  thee,  thou  shalt 

stand ! 
Speak,  with  the  world-wide  voice  of  thine  own 

sea. 


IN  CLOAK  OF  GREY 

I 

Love's  a  pilgrim,  cloaked  in  grey, 
And  his  feet  are  pierced  and  bleeding; 

Have  ye  seen  him  pass  this  way 
Sorrowfully  pleading? 

Ye  that  weep  the  world  away 

Have  ye  seen  King  Love  to-day? 

II 

Yea,  we  saw  him;   but  he  came 
Poppy-crowned  and  white  of  limb, 

Song  had  touched  his  lips  to  flame. 
And  his  eyes  were  drowsed  and  dim; 

And  we  kissed  the  hours  away 

Till  night  grew  rosier  than  the  day. 
107 


108  IN  CLOAK  OF  GREY 

III 

Hath  he  left  you  ?  —  Yea,  he  left  us 

A  little  while  ago; 
Of  his  laughter  quite  bereft  us 

And  his  limbs  of  snow: 
We  know  not  why  he  went  away, 
Who  ruled  our  revels  yesterday !  — 

IV 

Because  ye  did  not  understand 

Love  Cometh  from  afar, 
A  pilgrim  out  of  Holy  Land, 

Guided  by  a  star; 
Last  night  he  came  in  cloak  of  grey 
Begging !    Ye  knew  him  not !    He  went  his  way. 


A  RIDE  FOR  THE  QUEEN 

Queen  of  queens,  oh  lady  mine, 

You  who  say  you  love  me, 
Here's  a  cup  of  crimson  wine 

To  the  stars  above  me; 
Here's  a  cup  of  blood  and  gall 

For  a  soldier's  quaffing ! 
What's  the  prize  to  crown  it  all? 

Death?    I'll  take  it  laughing! 
I  ride  for  the  Queen  to-night! 

Though  I  find  no  knightly  fee 

Waiting  on  my  lealty, 
High  upon  the  gallows-tree 

Faithful  to  my  fealty, 
What  had  I  but  love  and  youth, 

Hope  and  fame  in  season? 

109 


110  A  RIDE  FOR   THE  QUEEN 

She  has  proved  that  more  than  truth 
Glorifies  her  treason! 

Would  that  other  do  as  much? 

Ah,  but  if  in  sorrow 
Some  forgotten  look  or  touch 

Pierce  her  heart  to-morrow, 
She  might  love  me  yet,  I  think; 

So  her  lie  befriends  me, 
Though  I  know  there's  darker  drink 

Down  the  road  she  sends  me. 

Ay,  one  more  great  chance  is  mine ! 

(Can  I  faint  or  falter?) 
She  shall  pour  my  blood  like  wine, 

Make  my  heart  her  altar. 
Burn  it  to  the  dust !    For,  there, 

What  if  o'er  the  embers 
She  should  stoop  and  —  I  should  hear  - 

'Hush!    Thy  love  remembers!' 


A  RIDE  FOR   THE  QUEEN  111 

One  more  chance  for  every  word 

Whispered  to  betray  me, 
While  she  buckled  on  my  sword, 

Smiling  to  allay  me; 
One  more  chance;    ah,  let  me  not 

Mar  her  perfect  pleasure; 
Love  shall  pay  me,  jot  by  jot, 

Measure  for  her  measure. 

Faith  shall  think  I  never  knew, 

I  will  be  so  fervent ! 
Doubt  shall  dream  I  dreamed  her  true, 

As  her  war-worn  servant ! 
Whoso  flouts  her  spotless  name 

(Love,  I  wear  thy  token !) 
He  shall  face  one  sword  of  flame 

Ere  the  lie  be  spoken ! 

God,  the  world  is  white  with  May, 
(Fragrant  as  her  bosom !) 


112  A  RIDE  FOR   THE  QUEEN 

Could  I  find  a  sweeter  way 
Through  the  year's  young  blossom, 

Where  her  warm  red  mouth  on  mine 
Woke  my  soul's  desire? 

Hey !    The  cup  of  crimson  wine, 
Blood  and  gall  and  fire ! 

Castle  Doom  or  Gates  of  Death? 

(Smile  again  for  pity !) 
'Boot  and  horse/  my  lady  saith, 

'Spur  against  the  City, 
Bear  this  message!'     God  and  she 

Still  forget  the  guerdon; 
Nay,  the  rope  is  on  the  tree! 

That  shall  bear  the  burden ! 
I  ride  for  the  Queen  to-night! 


SONG 

I 

When  that  I  loved  a  maiden 

My  heaven  was  in  her  eyes, 
And  when  they  bent  above  me 

I  knew  no  deeper  skies; 
But  when  her  heart  forsook  me, 

My  spirit  broke  its  bars, 
For  grief  beyond  the  sunset 

And  love  beyond  the  stars. 

n 

When  that  I  loved  a  maiden, 
She  seemed  the  world  to  me: 

Now  is  my  soul  the  universe, 
My  dreams  —  the  sky  and  sea ! 

I  .         113 


114  SONG 

There  bends  no  heaven  above  me, 

No  glory  binds  or  bars 
My  grief  beyond  the  sunset, 

My  love  beyond  the  stars. 

Ill 
When  that  I  loved  a  maiden, 

I  worshipped  where  she  trod; 
But,  when  she  clove  my  heart,  the  cleft 

Set  free  the  imprisoned  god; 
Then  was  I  King  of  all  the  world ! 

My  soul  had  burst  its  bars 
For  grief  beyond  the  sunset 

And  love  beyond  the  stars. 


EVE'S  APPLE 

I 

When  you  leant  thro'  the  leaves  with  your  slow 

red  smile  and  your  ivory  body  bare, 
Ah,  what  was  the  fruit  you  gathered  that  day, 

white  Eve  with  the  dusky  hair? 
For  we  took  it  and  ate  it  together  and  laughed ! 

Your  white  teeth  bit  to  the  core. 
There  was  little  to  leave  for  the  doves  to  peck, 

when  our  delicate  feast  was  o'er. 

n 

The  ripe  fruit  breathed  of  kisses,  you  said,  as 

your  breasts'  white  apples  may; 

But  your  body  was  cold  from  the  coils  of  the 

snake  when  you  came  to  my  arms  that  day : 
115 


116  eve's  apple 

There  was  blood,  red  blood  on  our  lips,  white 
Eve,  as  we  nibbled  away  in  the  sun; 

But  I  knew  that  the  fruit  was  my  heart,  white 
Eve, 

The  red  rent  core  of  my  heart,  white  Eve, 

Which  we  gnawed  and  left  for  the  rats,  white 
Eve,  when  our  delicate  feast  was  done. 


RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  SONG 

I 

^Gome  to  me  in  my  dreams  V  —  how  oft 
With  eyes  how  kind  and  voice  how  soft, 
I  heard  thee  sing,  at  fall  of  day, 
The  scholar  poet's  tenderest  lay. 
******* 

II 
But  oh,  come  not  to  me;   for  then 
The  dear  dead  love  will  stir  again; 
And  when  the  cold  light  bids  me  wake 
With  each  new  day  my  heart  will  break. 

ni 

Come  not  in  dreams;   how  could  I  bear 

Once  more  to  feel  thy  love  so  near, 

And  dream  it  true,  yet  inly  know 

What  bitter  treachery  lurked  below? 
117 


118  BECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  SONG 

IV 

Come  not,  as  thou  vnlt  come,  despite 

All  prayers,  in  watches  of  the  night. 
With  eyes  made  bright  by  foolish  tears 
And  fleeting  gleams  of  happier  years. 

V 

Come  not,  as  thou  hast  come  of  old, 
To  flood  a  sunless  world  with  gold. 
Or,  with  the  mockery  of  a  smile. 
Cheat  me  to  dream  thee  kind  awhile. 

VI 

Come  not,  as  thou  so  oft  didst  come. 
When  sorrow  made  me  blind  and  dumb, 
To  lay  false  lips  on  mine  and  say 
^  Sweet  love  can  never  pass  away.' 

VII 

Come  not  in  dreams  to  me;  for  then 
The  dear  dead  love  will  stir  again; 
And,  when  the  cold  light  bids  me  wake. 
With  each  new  day  my  heart  will  break. 


E  TENEBRIS 

I 

Into  the  keeping  of  death 

I  commend  my  love, 
Into  the  gloom  of  the  grave 

And  the  lasting  sleep! 
Yet  there  is  hope,  one  saith, 

In  some  glory  above, 
For  the  broken,  the  broken  wave 

That  is  lost  in  the  deep. 

n 

O,  I  know  not  their  meaning  at  all. 

They  speak  idly  to  me, 

Who  say  that  the  lost  things  return 

As  day  foUoweth  night ! 
119 


120  E  TENEBBI8 

I  watch  the  leaves  fall 
And  waves  break  on  the  sea, 

And  the  strange  skies  that  burn 
With  the  stranger  day's  light. 

Ill 
Shall  I  care  if  another  day  greet  me 

In  crimson  and  gold, 
Though  the  skies  be  still  blue 

When  the  eyes  that  were  kind 
Flash  no  longer  to  meet  me 

As  of  old,  as  of  old, 
With  a  love  that  was  true. 

Or  a  dream  that  was  blind? 

IV 

I  have  no  hope,  no  faith. 

No  desire  any  more. 
That  the  last  year's  flower 

Should  return  to  the  spray: 


E  TENEBBIS  121 

^Spring  Cometh,  spring  cometh/  one  saith; 

But  who  shall  restore 
Just  the  one  perished  hour 

Of  that  one  perished  May? 


SONNET 

Love,  when  the  great  hour  knelled  for  thee  and 

me, 

The  great  hour  that  should  prove  thee  false 

or  true, 

When  life  surged  round  us  like  a  wintry  sea 

And  thy  heart  feared  to  say  what  both  hearts 

knew; 

When  all  thy  vows  and  honeyed  words  were 

proven 

False  to  the  core  of  thy  poor  treacherous  heart ; 

When  by  God's  fire  my  heart's  false  heaven  was 

cloven 

And,  white  and  dumb,  our  torn  souls  turned 

to  part; 

0,  never  think  —  for  all  the  flash  and  thunder 

That  showed  us  the  dead  body  at  our  feet, 
122 


SONNET  123 

Though  heaven  and  hell  conspired  our  souls  to 

sunder 
And  though  we  twain  in  hell  nor  heaven  shall 

meet, 
Think  not,  where'er  Love's  clay-wrought  idols 

lie. 
The  Love  to  which  I  prayed  through  these  can 

die. 


THE  REAL  DANTE 

I 

0  Love,  Love,  Love,  Death  robbed  me  unaware, 
Undreaming  that  we  ne'er  should  meet  again, 
Else  had  one  soul's  infinity  of  pain 

Moated  thee  round  with  waves  for  Hell  to  dare. 

Yea,  in  that  fight,  even  now,  might  I  but  share. 
Poor  craven  I,  who  yet  on  earth  remain, 
Heaven,  heaven  itself  should  menace  us  in  vain. 

Thy  heart  on  mine,  my  lips  upon  thine  hair. 

I  have  lost  courage.  Love,  in  losing  thee. 
Courage  to  bear  this  wonder  of  the  sky, 

Courage  to  front  that  dark  Eternity, 
Courage  to  brook  life's  pitiful  riddle  —  Why, 
Why  hath  God  hurt  us  thus?    Poor  broken  cry 

Quivering,  unanswered,  o'er  the  world's  wide 
sea! 

124 


THE  MEAL  DANTE  125 

II 

And  thou  art  sleeping  on  that  silent  shore ! 

And  thou  can'st  never,  never,  once  return ! 

Not  though  the  starved  heart  strain  to  thee 
and  yearn, 
And  the  lame  hands  reach  upward  and  implore, 
And  the  wrenched  lips  reiterate,  o'er  and  o'er. 

One  thought  wherewith  the  pitiless  planets 
burn. 

One  lesson  life  is  all  too  short  to  learn. 
One  simple  sob  of  the  soul  —  No  more,  no  more  ! 

My  life  shall  never  learn  it !    Come  thou  back, 
0,  give  the  lie  to  all  this  dust  hath  said ! 

Come,  let  the  stars  retrace  their  shining  track, 
Steal  from  that  solemn  midnight  of  the  dead ! 

Though  as  a  dream  thou  canst  but  pass  me  by. 

Come,  give  my  heart  the  strength  to  break  and 
die. 


A  PRAYER 

Only  a  little,  0  Father,  only  to  rest 
Or  ever  the  night  come  and  the  Eternal  sleep, 
Only  to  rest  for  a  little,  a  little  to  weep 

In  the  dead  love's  pitiful  arms,  on  the  dead 
love's  breast, 

A  little  to  loosen  the  frozen  fountains,  to  free 
Rivers  of  blood  and  tears  that  should  slacken 

the  pulse 
Of  this  pitiless  heart  and  appease  these  pangs 
that  convulse 
Body  and  soul !   0,  out  of  Eternity, 

A  moment  to  whisper,  only  a  moment  to  tell 
My  dead,  my  dead,  what  words  are  so  helpless 
to  say  — 

126 


A  PRATER  127 

The  dreams  unuttered,  the  prayers  no  passion 
could  pray  — 
And  then,  the  eternal  sleep  or  the  pains  of  hell, 

I  could  welcome  them.  Father,  0  gladly  as  ever 
a  child 
Laying  his  head  on  the  pillow  might  turn  to 

his  rest 
And  remember  in  dreams,  as  the  hand  of  the 
mother  is  prest 
On  his  hair,  how  the  Pitiful  blessed  him  of  old 
and  smiled. 


OLD  JAPAN  AT  EARL'S  COURT 

I 

Of  old  Japan  —  how  far  away !  — 

We  dreamed  —  how  long  ago  !  — 
We  saw  by  twisted  creek  and  bay 

The  blue  plum-blossoms  blow, 
And  dragons  coiling  down  below 

Like  dragons  on  a  fan, 
And  pig-tailed  sailors  lurching  slow 

Thro'  streets  of  old  Japan. 

II 

Who  knows  that  land  —  that  dim  blue  day 

Where  white  tea-roses  grow? 

Only  a  penny  all  the  way 

They  cry  in  Pimhco: 
128 


OLD  JAPAN  AT  EARL'S  COURT        129 

The  busses  rumble  to  and  fro, 

Ah,  catch  one  if  you  can. 
And  see  the  paper-lanterns  glow 

Thro'  streets  of  old  Japan. 

Ill 
What  need  we  more  than  youth  and  May 

To  make  our  Miyako  ? 
A  chuckle  from  the  cherry  spray 

A  cherub's  mocking  crow, 
A  sudden  twang,  a  sweet  swift  throe 

As  Daisy  trips  by  Dan, 
And  careless  Cupid  drops  his  bow 

And  laughs  —  from  old  Japan. 

IV 

And  there  the  cherry  hough  shall  sway 
The  peach-bloom  shed  its  snow, 

With  scents  and  petals  strewn  astray 
Till  night  he  sweet  enow: 

K 


130         OLD  JAPAN  AT  EABL'S  COUBT 
Then  lovers  wander,  whispering  low 

As  lovers  only  can 
Where  rosy  paper  lanterns  glow 

Through  streets  of  old  Japan. 


OXFORD  REVISITED 

Timid  and  strange,  like  a  ghost,  I  pass  the  famil- 
iar portals, 
Echoing  now  like  a  tomb,  they  accept  me  no 
more  as  of  old; 
Yet  I  go  wistfully  onward,  a  shade  thro'  a  king- 
dom of  mortals 
Wanting  a  face  to  greet  me,  a  hand  to  grasp 
and  to  hold. 

Hardly  I  know  as  I  go  if  the  beautiful  City  is  only 
Mocking  me  under  the  moon,  with  its  streams 
and  its  willows  agleam, 
Whether  the  City  of  friends  or  I  that  am  friend- 
less and  lonely, 
Whether  the  boys  that  go  by  or  the  time-worn 
towers  be  the  dream ; 

131 


132  OXFORD  REVISITED 

Whether  the  walls  that  I  know,  or  the  unknown 
fugitive  faces, 
Faces  like  those  that  I  loved,  faces  that  haunt 
and  waylay, 
Faces  so  like  and  unlike,  in  the  dim  unforgettable 
places, 
Startling  the  heart  into  sickness  that  aches 
with  the  sweet  of  the  May,  — 

Whether  all  these  or  the  world  with  its  wars  be 
the  wandering  shadows ! 
Ah,  sweet  over  green-gloomed  waters  the  may 
hangs,  crimson  and  white; 
And  quiet  canoes  creep  down  by  the  warm  gold 
dusk  of  the  meadows 
Lapping  with  little  splashes  and  ripples  of 
silvery  light. 

Others  like  me  have  returned :  I  shall  see  the  old 
faces  to-morrow. 


OXFORD  REVISITED  133 

Down  by  the  gay-coloured  barges,  alert  for 
the  throb  of  the  oars, 
Wanting  to  row  once  again,  or  tenderly  jesting 
with  sorrow 
Up  the  old  stairways  and  noting  the  strange 
new  names  on  the  doors. 

Is  it  a  dream  ?    And  I  know  not  nor  care  if  there 
be  an  awaking 
Ever  at  all  any  more,  for  the  years  that  have 
torn  us  apart, 
Few,  so  few  as  they  are,  will  ever  be  rending  and 
breaking : 
Sooner  by  far  than  I  knew  have  they  wrought 
this  change  for  my  heart ! 

Well ;  I  grow  used  to  it  now !    Could  the  dream 
but  remain  and  for  ever, 
With  the  flowers  round  the  grey  quadrangle 
laughing  as  time  grows  old ! 


134  OXFORD  BEVISITED 

For  the  waters  go  down  to  the  sea,  but  the  sky 
still  gleams  on  the  river ! 
We  plucked  them  —  but  there  shall  be  lilies, 
ivory  lilies  and  gold. 

And  still,  in  the  beautiful  City,  the  river  of  life  is 
no  duller, 
Only  a  little  strange  as  the  eighth  hour  dreamily 
chimes. 
In  the  City  of  friends  and  echoes,  ribbons  and 
music  and  colour, 
Lilac  and  blossoming  chestnut,  willows  and 
whispering  limes. 

Over  the  Radcliffe  Dome  the  moon  as  the  ghost 

of  a  flower 
Weary  and  white  awakes  in  the  phantom  fields 

of  the  sky : 
The  trustful  shepherded  clouds  are  asleep  over 

steeple  and  tower, 


OXFOBD  BEVISITEB  135 

Dark  under  Magdalen  walls  the  Cher  like  a 
dream  goes  by. 

Back,  we  come  wandering  back,  poor  ghosts,  to 
the  home  that  one  misses 
Out  in  the  shelterless  world,  the  world  that 
was  heaven  to  us  then. 
Back  from  the  coil  and  the  vastness,  the  stars 
and  the  boundless  abysses. 
Like  monks  from  a  pilgrimage  stealing  in  bliss 
to  their  cloisters  again. 

City  of  dreams  that  we  lost,  accept  now  the  gift 
we  inherit  — 
Love,  such  a  love  as  we  knew  not  of  old  in  the 
blaze  of  our  noon. 
We  that  have  found  thee  at  last,  half  City,  half 
heavenly  Spirit, 
While  over  a  mist  of  spires  the  sunset  mellows 
the  moon. 


EARTH'S  IMMORTALITIES 

I 

No  more,  proud  singers,  boast  no  more ! 

Your  high  immortal  throne 

Will  scarce  outlast  a  king's! 
Time  is  a  sea  that  hath  no  shore 

Wherein  Death  idly  flings 

Your  fame  like  some  small  pebble-stone 
That  sinks  to  rise  no  more. 

Then  hoast  no  more,  "proud  singers. 
Your  high  immortal  throne! 

II 

This  earth,  this  Httle  grain  of  dust, 

Drifting  among  the  stars. 

With  her  invisible  wars, 

Her  love,  her  hate,  her  lust, 
136 


EABTH'S  IMMORTALITIES  137 

This  microscopic  ball 
Whereof  you  scan  a  part  so  small 
Outlasts  but  little  even  your  own  poor  dust. 

Then  boast  no  more,  provd  singers, 
Your  high  immortal  throne! 

Ill 
That  golden  spark  of  light  must  die, 

Which  now  you  call  your  sun, 

Soon  will  its  race  be  run 
Around  its  trivial  sky: 

What  hand  shall  then  unroll 

Dead  Maro's  little  golden  scroll 
When  earth  and  sun  in  one  wide  charnel  lie  ? 

Boast  no  more,  proud  singers! 
Your  high  immortal  throne 
Will  scarce  outlast  a  king's. 


THE  TESTIMONY  OF  ART 

As  earth,  sad  earth,  thrusts  many  a  gloomy  cape 
Into  the  sea's  bright  colour  and  living  glee, 
So  do  we  strive  to  embay  that  mystery 

Which  earthly  hands  must  ever  let  escape; 

The  Word  we  seek  for  is  the  golden  shape 
That  shall  express  the  Soul  we  cannot  see, 
A  temporal  chalice  of  Eternity 

Purple  with  beating  blood  of  the  hallowed  grape. 

Once  was  it  wine  and  sacramental  bread 

Whereby  we  knew  the  power  that  through 

Him  smiled 

When,  in  one  still  small  utterance.  He  hurled 

The  Eternities  beneath  his  feet  and  said 

With  lips,  0  meek  as  any  little  child. 

Be  of  good  cheer,  I  have  overcome  the  world, 
138 


SONG 

I 

Nymphs  and  naiads,  come  away, 

Love  lies  dead ! 
Cover  the  cast-back  golden  head, 
Cover  the  lovely  limbs  with  may. 

And  with  fairest  boughs  of  green 
And  many  a  rose-wreathed  brier  spray; 

But  let  no  hateful  yew  be  seen 
Where  Love  lies  dead. 

n 

Let  not  the  quean  that  would  not  hear 

(Love  lies  dead !) 

Or  beauty  that  refused  to  save 

Exult  in  one  dejected  tear; 
139 


140  80NG 

But  gather  the  glory  of  the  year, 
The  pomp  and  glory  of  the  year, 
The  triumphing  glory  of  the  year. 

And  softly,  softly,  softly  shed 
Its  light  and  fragrance  round  the  grave 

Where  Love  lies  dead. 


REMEMBRANCE 

0  UNFORGOTTEN  lips,  grey  haunting  eyes, 
Soft  curving  cheeks  and  heart-remembered 
brow, 

It  is  all  true,  the  old  love  never  dies. 
And  —  parted  —  we  must  meet  for  ever  now. 

We  did  not  think  it  true !    We  did  not  think 
Love  meant  this  universal  cry  of  pain. 

This  crown  of  thorn,  this  vinegar  to  drink. 
This  lonely  crucifixion  o'er  again. 

Yet,  through  the  darkness  of  the  sleepless  night. 

Your  tortured  face  comes  meekly  answering 

mine ; 

Dumb,  but  I  know  why  those  mute  lips  are 

white, 

141 


142  BEMEMBBANCE 

Dark,  but  I  know  why  those  dark  lashes 
shine. 

0  Love,  Love,  Love,  and  what  if  this  should 

be 
For  ever  now,  through  God's  Eternity? 


UNITY 

I 

Heart  of  my  heart,  the  world  is  young; 

Love  lies  hidden  in  every  rose ! 
Every  song  that  the  skylark  sung 

Once,  we  thought,  must  come  to  a  close: 
Now  we  know  the  spirit  of  song, 

Song  that  is  merged  in  the  chant  of  the  whole, 
Hand  in  hand  as  we  wander  along. 

What  should  we  doubt  of  the  years  that  roll  ? 

n 

Heart  of  my  heart,  we  cannot  die ! 

Lcve  triumphant  in  flower  and  tree, 

Every  life  that  laughs  at  the  sky 

Tells  us  nothing  can  cease  to  be: 
143 


144  UNITY 

One,  we  are  one  with  a  song  to-day, 
One  with  the  clover  that  scents  the  wold. 

One  with  the  Unknown,  far  away, 
One  with  the  stars,  when  earth  grows  old. 

ra 

Heart  of  my  heart,  we  are  one  with  the  wind, 

One  with  the  clouds  that  are  whirled  o'er  the 
lea. 
One  in  many,  0  broken  and  blind. 

One  as  the  waves  are  at  one  with  the  sea ! 
Ay !   when  life  seems  scattered  apart. 

Darkens,  ends  as  a  tale  that  is  told. 
One,  we  are  one,  0  heart  of  my  heart. 

One  still  one,  while  the  world  grows  old. 


JOY  AND  PAIN 

Beloved,  I  could  not  tame  thy  wild  bright 

wings ! 

Thy  flight  was  like  a  seabird's  down  the  skies : 

I  could  but  catch  the   brightness  of  thine 

eyes; 

And  then  —  the  wind  that   buffets,  the  spray 

that  stings 
And  lashes  and  blinds  a  shore  that  only  rings 
With  the  elemental  storms  bore  down  my 

cries, 
And  where  the  clotted  foam  in  fury  flies 
Thou  hadst  flown  rejoicing  in  all  cruel  things. 

I  know  thee  now,  Beloved,  for  thou  art  come 

With  blood-stained  breast  into  my  fostering 

hand ! 
L  145 


146  JOT  AND  PAIN 

0  weary  wings  that  have  come  home  again, 
0  beating  heart  where  every  song  lies  dumb, 

0  wounded  bird,  at  last  I  understand, 

1  understand  those  wild  bright  eyes  of  pain. 


IN  THE  COOL  OF  THE  EVENING 

I 
In  the  cool  of  the  evening,  when  the  low  sweet 
whispers  waken, 
When  the  labourers  turn  them  homeward, 
and  the  weary  have  their  will. 
When  the  censers  of  the  roses  o'er  the  forest- 
aisles  are  shaken 
Is  it  but  the  wind  that  cometh  o'er  the  far 
green  hill? 

II 

For  they  say  'tis  but  the  sunset  winds  that 

wander  thro'  the  heather, 

Rustle  all  the  meadow-grass  and  bend  the 

dewy  fern: 

147 


148        IN  THE  COOL   OF  TEE  EVENING 

They  say  'tis  but  the  winds  that  bow  the  reeds 
in  prayer  together, 
And  fill  the  shaken  pools  with  fire  along  the 
shadowy  burn. 

Ill 

In  the  beauty  of  the  twilight,  in  the  Garden 
that  He  loveth, 
They  have  veiled  his  lovely  vesture  with  the 
darkness  of  a  name ! 
Thro'  His  Garden,  thro'  His  Garden,  it  is  but  the 
wind  that  moveth, 
No  more !    But  0  the  miracle,  the  miracle  is 
the  same. 

IV 

In  the  cool  of  the  evening,  when  the  sky  is  an 
old  story. 
Slowly  dying,  but  remembered,  ay,  and  loved 
with  passion  still  .  .  . 


IN  THE  COOL   OF  THE  EVENING       149 

Hush!  .  .  .  the  fringes  of  His  garment,  in  the 
fading  golden  glory 
Softly  rustling  as  He  cometh   o'er  the   far 
green  hill. 


THE  COTTAGE  OF  THE  KINDLY  LIGHT 

There  is  a  valley  of  fir-woods  in  the  West 
That  slopes  between  great  mountains  to  the  sea. 
Once,  at  the  valley's  mouth,  a  cottage  stood: 
Its  ruins  remain,  like  boulders  of  a  rock, 
High  on  the  hill,  whose  base  is  white  with  foam. 
To  its  forsaken  garden  sometimes  come 
Lovers,  who  lean  upon  its  grass-grown  gate 
And  listen  to  the  sea-song  far  below; 
Or  little  children,  with  their  baskets,  trip 
Merrily  through  the  fir-woods  and  the  fern, 
And  climb  the  crumbling  thistle-empurpled  wall 
Around  the  tangled  copse,  and  laugh  to  find 
The  hardy  straggling  raspberries  all  their  own. 

Round  it  the  curlews  wheel  and  cry  all  night ; 

And,  with  no  other  comfort  than  the  stars 
150 


THE  COTTAGE  OF  THE  KINDLY  LIGHT     151 

Can  faintly  shed  from  their  familiar  heights 
It  has  been  patient,  while  the  world  below 
Has  hidden  itself  in  darkness  and  in  clouds 
Of  terror  from  the  landward-rushing  storm. 
Like  a  small  gleam  of  quartz  in  a  great  rock, 
A  tiny  beacon  in  the  whirling  gloom, 
It  stood  and  gathered  sorrow  from  the  world. 

There,  many  years  ago,  a  woman  dwelt, 
A  sailor's  widow  with  her  only  son; 
And  ever  as  she  hugged  him  to  her  heart 
In  those  glad  days  when  he  was  but  a  child. 
Her  memories  of  one  black  eternal  night 
When  she  had  watched  and  waited  for  the  sail 
That  nevermore  returned,  filled  her  with  one 
Supreme,  almost  unbreathable,  desire 
That  this  her  little  one,  her  living  bliss. 
The  last  caress  incarnate  of  her  love. 
Should  never  leave  her  side;   or,  if  he  left. 


152      TEE  COTTAGE  OF  THE  KINDLY  LIGHT 

Never  set  forth  upon  the  sea :  her  flesh 
Shuddered  as  the  sea  shuddered  in  the  sun 
Over  the  cold  grave  of  her  first  last  love 
Even  to  dream  of  it ;  yet  she  remained 
Silent  and  passive  on  her  sea-washed  hill, 
Facing  the  sunset,  in  that  lonely  home, 
Where  everything  bore  witness  to  the  sea,  — 
The  shells  her  love  had  brought  from  foreign 

lands, 
The  model  ship  he  built;   yet  she  remained. 
For  her  first  kisses  lingered  in  the  scent 
Of  those  rough  wallflowers  round  the  white- 
washed walls, 
And  the  first  flush  of  love  that  touched  her  cheek 
Lingered  and  lived  and  died  and  lived  again 
In  the  pink  thrift  that  nodded  by  the  gate. 
As  if  these  and  her  outlook  o'er  the  sea 
Were  nought  else  but  her  soul's  one  atmosphere. 
Wherein  alone  she  lived  and  moved  and  breathed, 


THE  COTTAGE  OF  THE  KINDLY  LIGHT     153 

Having  no  other  thought  but  This  is  home, 

My  part  in  God's  eternity,  she  still 

Remained.  The  lad  grew;  yet  her  fear  was  dumb. 

The  lad  grew,  and  the  white  foam  kissed  his  feet 
Sporting   upon   the   verge:    the   green   waves 

laughed 
And  smote  their  hard  bright  kisses  on  his  lips 
As  he  swam  out  to  meet  them :  the  whole  sea, 
Like  some  strange  symbol  of  the  spiritual  deeps 
That  hourly  lure  the  soul  of  man  in  quest 
Of  beauty,  pleasure,  knowledge,  summoned  him 

out, 
Out  from  the  old  faiths,  the  old  fostering  arms 

of  home. 
Called  him  with  strange  new  voices  evermore. 
Called  him  with  ringing  names  of  high  renown, 
With  white-armed  sirens  in  its  blossoming  waves, 
And  heavenly  cities  in  its  westering  suns; 


154      THE  COTTAGE  OF  THE  KINDLY  LIGHT 

Called  him;  and  old  adventures  filled  his  heart, 

And  he  forgot,  as  all  of  us  forget. 

The  imperishable  and  infinite  desire 

Of  the  vacant  arms  and  bosom  that  still  yearn 

For  the  little  vanished  children,  still,  still  ache 

To  keep  their  children  little  !  He  grew  wroth 

At  aught  that  savoured  of  such  fostering  care 

As  mothers  long  to  lavish,  aught  that  seemed 

To  rob  him  of  his  manhood,  his  free-will : 

And  she  —  she  understood  and  she  was  dumb. 

And  so  the  lad  grew  up ;  and  he  was  tall, 
Supple,  and  sunburnt,  and  a  flower  of  men. 
His  eyes  had  caught  the  blue  of  sea-washed  skies, 
And  deepened  with  strange  manhood,  till,  at  last, 
One  eve  in  May  his  mother  wandered  down 
The  hill  to  await  his  coming,  wistfully 
Wandered,  touching  with  vague  and  dreaming 
hands 


THE  COTTAGE  OF  THE  KINDLY  LIGHT     155 

The  uncrumpling  fronds  of  fern  and  budding 

roses 
As  if  she  thought  them  but  the  ghosts  of  spring. 
From  far  below  the  golden  breezes  brought 
A  mellow  music  from  the  village  church, 
Which  o'er  the  fragrant  fir-wood  she  could  see 
Pointing  a  sky-blue  spire  to  heaven :  she  knew 
That  music,  her  most  heart-remembered  song  — 

^^Sun  of  my  soul,  thou  Saviour  dear, 
It  is  not  night  if  Thou  be  near!'^ 

And  as  the  music  made  her  one  with  all 
That  soft  transfigured  world  of  eventide, 
One  with  the  flame  that  sanctified  the  West, 
One  with  the  golden  sabbath  of  the  sea, 
One  with  the  sweet  responses  of  the  woods. 
One  with  the  kneeling  mountains,  there  she  saw 
In  a  tangle  of  ferns  and  roses  and  wild  light 
Shot  from  the  sunset  through  a  glade  of  fir. 


156      THE  COTTAGE  OF  TEE  KINDLY  LIGHT 

Her  boy  and  some  young  rival  in  his  arms, 
A  girl  of  seventeen  summers,  dusky-haired, 
Grey-eyed,  and  breasted  like  a  crescent  moon. 
Lifting  her  red  lips  in  a  dream  of  love 
Up  to  the  red  lips  of  her  only  son. 
Jealousy  numbed  the  mother's  lonely  soul, 
And,  sickening  at  the  heart,  she  stole  away. 

Yet  she  said  nothing  when  her  boy  returned; 
And,  after  supper,  she  took  down  the  Book, 
Her  own  dead  grandsire's  massive  wedding-gift. 
The  large-print  Bible,  like  a  corner-stone 
Hewn  from  the  solemn  fabric  of  his  life  — 
An  heirloom  for  the  guidance  of  his  sons 
And  their  sons'  sons;  and  every  night  her  boy 
Read  it  aloud  to  her  —  a  last  fond  link 
Frayed  and  nigh  snapt  already,  for  she  knew 
It  irked  him.    And  he  read.  Abide  with  m, 
For  the  day  is  far  spent;  and  she  looked  at  him 


THE  COTTAGE  OF  THE  KINDLY  LIGHT     157 

Shyly,  furtively.    With  great  tears  she  gazed 
As  on  a  stranger  in  her  child's  new  face. 

At  last  he  told  her  all  —  told  of  his  love, 
And  how  he  must  grow  wealthy  now  and  make 
A  home  for  his  young  sweetheart,  how  he  meant 
To  work  upon  a  neighbour's  fishing-boat 
Till  he  could  buy  one  for  himself.     He  ceased ; 
Far  off  the  sea  sighed  and  a  curlew  wailed; 
A  soft  breeze  brought  a  puff  of  wallflower  scent 
Warm  through  the  casement.    He  looked  up  and 

smiled 
Into  his  mother's  face,  and  saw  the  tears 
Creep  through  the  gnarled  old  hands  that  hid 

her  eyes. 
He  saw  the  star-light  glisten  on  her  tears ! 
He  could  not  understand :  her  lips  were  dumb. 

Oh,  dumb  and  patient  as  our  Mother  Earth 
Watching  from  age  to  age  the  silent,  swift, 


158      THE  COTTAGE  OF  THE  KINDLY  LIGHT 

Light-hearted  progress  of  her  careless  sons 
By  new-old  ways  to  one  unaltering  doom, 
Through  the  long  nights  she  waited  as  of  old 
Till  in  the  dawn  —  and  coloured  like  the  dawn  — 
The  tawny  sails  came  home  across  the  bar. 
And  every  night  she  placed  a  little  lamp 
In  the  cottage  window,  that  if  e'er  he  gazed 
Homeward  by  night  across  the  heaving  sea 
He  might  be  touched  to  memory.    But  she  said 
Nothing.    The  lamp  was  like  the  liquid  light 
In  some  dumb  creature's  eyes,  that  can  but  wait 
Until  its  master  chance  to  see  its  love 
And  deign  to  touch  its  brow. 

Now  in  those  days 
There  went  a  preacher  through  the  country-side 
Filling  men's  hearts  with  fire;  and  out  at  sea 
The  sailors  sang  great  hymns  to  God ;  and  one 
Stood  up  one  night,  among  the  gleaming  nets 
A-stream  with  silver  herring  in  the  moon. 


THE  COTTAGE  OF  THE  KINDLY  LIGHT     159 
And  pointed  to  the  lamp  that  burned  afar 
And  said,  ^  Such  is  that  Kindly  Light  we  sing ! ' 
And  ever  afterwards  the  widow's  house 
Was  called  The  Cottage  of  the  Kindly  Light 

One  night  there  came  a  storm  up  from  the  wild 
Atlantic,  and  a  cry  of  fierce  despair 
Rang  through  the  fishing  village ;  and  brave  men 
Launched  the  frail  lifeboat  through  a  shawl-clad 

crowd 
Of  weeping  women.    But,  high  o'er  the  storm. 
High  on  the  hill  one  lonely  woman  stood, 
Amongst  the  thunders  and  the  driving  clouds. 
Searching,  at  every  world-wide  lightning  glare. 
The  sudden  miles  of  white  stampeding  sea; 
Searching  for  what  she  knew  was  lost,  ay  lost 
For  ever  now;   but  some  strange  inward  pride 
Forbade  her  to  go  down  and  mix  with  those 
Who  could  cry  out  their  loss  upon  the  quays. 


160      THE  COTTAGE  OF  THE  KINDLY  LIGHT 
High  on  the  hill  she  stood  and  watched  alone, 
Confessing  nothing,  acknowledging  nothing. 
Without  one  moan,  without  one  outward  prayer, 
Buffeted  by  the  scornful  universe, 
Over  the  crash  of  seas  that  shook  the  world 
She  stood,  one  steadfast  fragment  of  the  night ; 
And  the  wind  kissed  her  and  the  weeping  rain. 

******* 
But  braver  men  than  those  who  fought  the  sea 
At  dawn  tramped  up  the  hill,  with  aching  hearts. 
To  break  her  loss  to  her  who  knew  it  all 
Far  better  than  the  best  of  them.    She  stood 
Still  at  her  gate  and  watched  them  as  they  came, 
Curiously  noting  in  a  strange  dull  dream 
The  gleaming  colours,  the  little  rainbow  pools 
The  dawn  made  in  their  rough  wet  oilskin  hats 
And  wrinkled  coats,  like  patches  of  the  sea. 

'Lost?     My  boy  lost?'  she  smiled.     'Nay,  he 
will  come ! 


TBE  COTTAGE  OF  THE  KINDLY  LIGHT     161 

To-morrow,  or  the  next  day,  or  the  next 
The  Kindly  Light  will  bring  him  home  again.' 
And  so,   whatever  they  answered,   she  would 

say  — 
'  The  Kindly  Light  will  bring  him  home  again ; ' 
Until,  at  last,  thinking  her  dazed  with  grief. 
They  gently  turned  and  went. 

She  had  not  wept. 

And  ere  that  week  was  over,  came  the  girl 
Her  boy  had  loved.    With  tears  and  a  white 

face 
And  garbed  in  black  she  came;    and  when  she 

neared 
The  gate,  his  mother,  proud  and  white  with  scorn, 
Bade  her  return  and  put  away  that  garb 
Of  mourning :  and  the  girl  saw,  shrinking  back. 
The  boy's  own  mother  wore  no  sign  of  grief, 
But  all  in  white  she  stood ;  and  like  a  flash 


162      THE  COTTAGE  OF  THE  KINDLY  LIGHT 

The  girl  thought;  '  God,  she  wears  her  wedding- 
dress  ! 
Her  grief  has  driven  her  mad !' 

And  all  that  year 
The  widow  lit  the  little  Kindly  Light 
And  placed  it  in  the  window.    All  that  year 
She  watched  and  waited  for  her  boy's  return 
At  dawn  from  the  high  hill-top :  all  that  year 
She  went  in  white,  though  through  the  village 

streets 
Far,  far  below,  the  women  went  in  black; 
For  all  had  lost  some  man;    but  all  that  year 
She  said  to  her  friends  and  neighbours, '  He  will 

come ; 
He  is  delayed;  some  ship  has  picked  him  up 
And  borne  him  out  to  some  far-distant  land ! 
Why   should   I  mourn  the  living?'    And,  at 

dusk, 


THE  COTTAGE  OF  THE  KINDLY  LIGHT     163 

As  if  it  were  indeed  the  Kindly  Light 

Of  faith  and  hope  and  love,  she  lit  the  lamp 

And  placed  it  in  the  window. 

The  year  passed  ; 
And  on  an  eve  in  May  her  boy's  love  climbed 
The  hill  once  more,  and  as  the  stars  came  out 
And  the  dusk  gathered  round  her  tenderly, 
And  the  last  boats  came  stealing  o'er  the  bar, 
And  the  immeasurable  sea  lay  bright  and  bare 
And  beautiful  to  all  infinity 
Beneath  the  last  faint  colours  of  the  sun 
And  the  increasing  kisses  of  the  moon, 
A  hymn  came  on  a  waft  of  evening  wind 
Along  the  valley  from  the  village  church 
And  thrilled  her  with  a  new  significance 
Unfelt  before.     It  was  the  hymn  they  heard 
On  that  sweet  night  among  the  rose-lit  fern  — 
Sun  of  my  soul;  and,  as  she  climbed  the  hill. 
She  wondered,  for  she  saw  no  Kindly  Light 


164      THE  COTTAGE  OF  THE  KINDLY  LIGHT 

Glimmering  from  the  window;  and  she  thought, 
*  Perhaps  the  madness  leaves  her/    There  the 

hymn, 
Like  one  great  upward  flight  of  angels,  rose 
All  round  her,  mingling  with  the   sea's    own 

voice  — 

'  Gome  near  and  hless  us  when  we  wake, 
Ere  through  the  world  our  way  we  take,  — 
Till,  in  the  ocean  of  Thy  love, 
We  lose  ourselves  in  heaven  above.' 

And  when  she  passed  the  pink  thrift  by  the  gate. 
And  the  rough  wallflowers  by  the  whitewashed 

wall, 
And  entered,  she  beheld  the  widow  kneeling. 
In  black,  beside  the  unlit  Kindly  Light; 
And  near  her  dead  cold  hand  upon  the  floor 
A  fallen  taper,  for  with  her  last  strength 
She  had  striven  to  light  it  and,  so  failing,  died. 


THE  THREE  SHIPS 
(To  an  old  tune.) 

I 

As  I  went  up  the  mountain  side, 
The  sea  below  me  glittered  wide, 
And,  Eastward,  far  away,  I  spied 

On  Christmas  Day,  on  Christmas  Day, 
The  three  great  ships  that  take  the  tide 

On  Christmas  Day  in  the  morning. 

n 

Ye  have  heard  the  song,  how  these  must  ply 

From  the  harbours  of  home  to  the  ports  o'  the 

sky! 

Do  ye  dream  none  knoweth  the  whither  and  why 

On  Christmas  Day,  on  Christmas  Day, 

The  three  great  ships  go  sailing  by 

On  Christmas  Day  in  the  morning? 
165 


166  THE  THREE  SHIPS 

III 

Yet,  as  I  live,  I  never  knew 

That  ever  a  song  could  ring  so  true, 

Till  I  saw  them  break  thro'  a  haze  of  blue 

On  Christmas  Day,  on  Christmas  Day; 
And  the  marvellous  ancient  flags  they  flew 

On  Christmas  Day  in  the  morning ! 

IV 

From  heights  above  the  belfried  town 

I  saw  the  sails  were  patched  and  brown. 

But  the  flags  were  aflame  with  a  great  renown 

On  Christmas  Day,  on  Christmas  Day, 
And  on  every  mast  was  a  golden  crown 

On  Christmas  Day  in  the  morning. 

v 

Most  marvellous  ancient  ships  were  these! 
Were  their  prows  a-plunge  to  the  Chersonese 
For  the  pomp  of  Rome  or  the  glory  of  Greece 


THE  THBEE  SHIPS  167 

On  Christmas  Day,  on  Christmas  Day? 
Were  they  out  on  a  quest  for  the  Golden  Fleece 
On  Christmas  Day  in  the  morning? 

VI 

And  the  sun  and  the  wind  they  told  me  there 

How  goodly  a  load  the  three  ships  bear, 

For  the  first  is  gold  and  the  second  is  myrrh 

On  Christmas  Day,  on  Christmas  Day; 
And  the  third  is  frankincense  most  rare 

On  Christmas  Day  in  the  morning. 

VII 

They  have  mixed  their  shrouds  with  the  golden 

sky, 
They  have  faded  away  where  the  last  dreams 

die  .  .  . 
Ah  yet,  will  ye  watch,  when  the  mist  lifts  high 

On  Christmas  Day,  on  Christmas  Day? 
Will  ye  see  three  ships  come  sailing  by 
On  Christmas  Day  in  the  morning? 


SLUMBER-SONGS  OF  THE  MADONNA 

PRELUDE 

Dante  saw  the  great  white  Rose 

Half  unclose; 
Dante  saw  the  golden  bees 

Gathering  from  its  heart  of  gold 

Sweets  untold, 
Love's  most  honeyed  harmonies. 

Dante  saw  the  threefold  bow 

Strangely  glow, 

Saw  the  Rainbow  Vision  rise, 

And  the  Flame  that  wore  the  crown 

Bending  down 

O'er  the  flowers  of  Paradise. 
168 


SLUMBEB-SONGS  OF  THE  MADONNA      169 

Something  yet  remained,  it  seems ; 

In  his  dreams 
Dante  missed  —  as  angels  may 
In  their  white  and  burning  bhss  — 

Some  small  kiss 
Mortals  meet  with  every  day. 

Italy  in  splendour  faints 

'Neath  her  saints ! 
0,  her  great  Madonnas,  too, 
Faces  calm  as  any  moon 

Glows  in  June, 
Hooded  with  the  night's  deep  blue ! 

What  remains  ?    I  pass  and  hear 

Everywhere, 
Ay,  or  see  in  silent  eyes 

Just  the  song  she  still  would  sing 

Thus  —  a-swing 
O'er  the  cradle  where  He  lies. 


170      SLUMBER-SONGS  OF  THE  MADONNA 

I 

Sleep,  little  baby,  I  love  thee; 

Sleep,  little  king,  I  am  bending  above  thee ! 

How  should  I  know  what  to  sing 
Here  in  my  arms  as  I  swing  thee  to  sleep  ? 
Hushaby  low, 
Rockaby  so. 
Kings  may  have  wonderful  jewels  to  bring. 
Mother  has  only  a  kiss  for  her  king ! 
Why  should  my  singing  so  make  me  to  weep  ? 
Only  I  know  that  I  love  thee,  I  love  thee, 

Love  thee,  my  little  one,  sleep. 

II 

Is  it  a  dream?    Ah  yet,  it  seems 
Not  the  same  as  other  dreams ! 

I  can  but  think  that  angels  sang. 

When  thou  wast  born,  in  the  starry  sky. 


SLUMBEB-SONGS  OF  THE  MADONNA      171 

And  that  their  golden  harps  out-rang 
While  the  silver  clouds  went  by ! 

The  morning  sun  shuts  out  the  stars, 

Which  are  much  loftier  than  the  sun; 
But,  could  we  burst  our  prison-bars 

And  find  the  Light  whence  light  begun, 
The  dreams  that  heralded  thy  birth 
Were  truer  than  the  truths  of  earth; 
And,  by  that  far  immortal  Gleam, 
Soul  of  my  soul,  I  still  would  dream ! 

A  ring  of  light  was  round  thy  head, 
The  great-eyed  oxen  nigh  thy  bed 
Their  cold  and  innocent  noses  bowed ! 
Their  sweet  breath  rose  like  an  incense  cloud 
In  the  blurred  and  mystic  lanthorn  light ! 

About  the  middle  of  the  night 

The  black  door  blazed  Uke  some  great  star 

With  a  glory  from  afar. 


172      SLUMBER-SONGS  OF  THE  MADONNA 
Or  like  some  mighty  chrysolite 
Wherein  an  angel  stood  with  white 
Blinding  arrowy  bladed  wings 
Before  the  throne  of  the  King  of  kings; 
And,  through  it,  I  could  dimly  see 
A  great  steed  tethered  to  a  tree. 

Then,  with  crimson  gems  aflame 
Through  the  door  the  three  kings  came. 
And  the  black  Ethiop  unrolled 
The  richly  broidered  cloth  of  gold, 
And  poured  forth  before  thee  there 
Gold  and  frankincense  and  myrrh ! 

Ill 

See,  what  a  wonderful  smile !  Does  it  mean 
That  my  little  one  knows  of  my  love? 

Was  it  meant  for  an  angel  that  passed  unseen, 
And  smiled  at  us  both  from  above  ? 


SLUMBER-SONGS  OF  THE  MADONNA      173 

Does  it  mean  that  he  knows  of  the  birds  and  the 

flowers 
That  are  waiting  to  sweeten  his  childhood's  hours, 
And  the  tales  I  shall  tell  and  the  games  he  will 

play, 
And  the  songs  we  shall  sing  and  the  prayers  we 
shall  pray 

In  his  boyhood's  May, 
He  and  I,  one  day  ? 

IV 

All  in  the  warm  blue  summer  weather 
We  shall  laugh  and  love  together: 

I  shall  watch  my  baby  growing, 
I  shall  guide  his  feet, 

When  the  orange  trees  are  blowing 
And  the  winds  are  heavy  and  sweet ! 

When  the  orange  orchards  whiten 

I  shall  see  his  great  eyes  brighten 


174      SLUMBER-SOJ^GS  OF  THE  MADONNA 

To  watch  the  long-legged  camels  going 

Up  the  twisted  street, 
When  the  orange  trees  are  blowing 

And  the  winds  are  sweet. 

What  does  it  mean?    Indeed,  it  seems 
A  dream!    Yet  not  like  other  dreams! 

We  shall  walk  in  pleasant  vales, 
Listening  to  the  shepherd's  song 

I  shall  tell  him  lovely  tales 
All  day  long : 

He  shall  laugh  while  mother  sings 

Tales  of  fishermen  and  kings. 

He  shall  see  them  come  and  go 

O'er  the  wistful  sea, 
Where  rosy  oleanders  blow 

Round  blue  Lake  Galilee, 
Kings  with  fishers'  ragged  coats 
And  silver  nets  across  their  boats, 


SLUMBEB-SONGS  OF  THE  MADONNA      175 
Dipping  through  the  starry  glow, 
With  crowns  for  him  and  me! 

Ah,  no; 
Crowns  for  him,  not  me! 

Rockaby  so!    Indeed,  it  seems 

A  dream!  yet  not  like  other  dreams! 

V 

Ah,  see  what  a  wonderful  smile  again ! 

Shall  I  hide  it  away  in  my  heart, 
To  remember  one  day  in  a  world  of  pain 

When  the  years  have  torn  us  apart, 
Ijittle  babe, 

When  the  years  have  torn  us  apart  ? 

Sleep,  my  little  one,  sleep, 
Child  with  the  wonderful  eyes. 
Wild  miraculous  eyes. 

Deep  as  the  skies  are  deep! 

What  star-bright  glory  of  tears 


176      SLUMBEB-SONGS   OF  THE  MADONNA 
Waits  in  you  now  for  the  years 
That  shall  bid  you  waken  and  weep? 
Ah,  in  that  day,  could  I  kiss  you  to  sleep 
Then,  little  lips,  little  eyes, 
Little  lips  that  are  lovely  and  wise. 
Little  lips  that  are  dreadful  and  wise ! 

VI 

Clenched  little  hands  like  crumpled  roses 

Dimpled  and  dear, 
Feet  like  flowers  that  the  dawn  uncloses, 

What  do  I  fear? 
Little  hands, will  you  ever  be  clenched  in  anguish? 
White  little  limbs,  will  you  droop  and  languish? 

Nay,  what  do  I  hear? 
I  hear  a  shouting,  far  away, 
You  shall  ride  on  a  kingly  palm-strewn  way 

Some  day ! 

But  when  you  are  crowned  with  a  golden  crown 


SLUMBER-SONGS  OF  THE  MADONNA     177 

And  throned  on  a  golden  throne, 
You'll  forget  the  manger  of  Bethlehem  town 

And  your  mother  that  sits  alone 
Wondering  whether  the  mighty  king 
Remembers  a  song  she  used  to  sing, 
Long  ago, 
"  Rockahy  so, 
Kings  may  have  wonderful  jewels  to  bring, 
Mother  has  only  a  kiss  for  her  king!^^  .  .  . 

Ah,  see  what  a  wonderful  smile,  once  more ! 

He  opens  his  great  dark  eyes ! 
Little  child,  little  king,  nay,  hush,  it  is  o'er, 

My  fear  of  those  deep  twin  skies,  — 
Little  child, 

You  are  all  too  dreadful  and  wise ! 

VII 

But  now  you  are  mine,  all  mine. 

And  your  feet  can  lie  in  my  hand  so  small, 


178      SLUMBER-SONGS  OF  THE  MADONNA 

And  your  tiny  hands  in  my  heart  can  twine, 
And  you  cannot  walk,  so  you  never  shall  fall. 

Or  be  pierced  by  the  thorns  beside  the  door. 

Or  the  nails  that  lie  upon  Joseph's  floor; 

Through  sun  and  rain,  through  shadow  and  shine, 
You  are  mine,  all  mine ! 


THE  CALL  OF  THE  SPRING 

Come,  choose  your  road  and  away,  my  lad, 
Come,  choose  your  road  and  away! 

We'll  out  of  the  town  by  the  road's  bright  crown 
As  it  dips  to  the  dazzling  day. 

It's  a  long  white  road  for  the  weary ; 
But  it  rolls  through  the  heart  of  the  May. 

Though  many  a  road  would  merrily  ring 
To  the  tramp  of  your  marching  feet, 

All  roads  are  one  from  the  day  that's  done, 
And  the  miles  are  swift  and  sweet. 

And  the  graves  of  your  friends  are  the  mile-stones 
To  the  land  where  all  roads  meet. 

But  the  call  that  you  hear  this  day,  my  lad, 

Is  the  Spring's  old  bugle  of  mirth 
179 


180  THE  CALL   OF  THE  SPRING 

When  the  year's  green  fire  in  a  soul's  desire 
Is  brought  like  a  rose  to  the  birth; 

And  knights  ride  out  to  adventure 
As  the  flowers  break  out  of  the  earth. 

Over  the  sweet-smelling  mountain-passes 

The  clouds  lie  brightly  curled; 
The  wild-flowers  cling  to  the  crags  and  swing 

With  cataract-dews  impearled ; 
And  the  way,  the  way  that  you  choose  this  day 

Is  the  way  to  the  end  of  the  world. 

It  rolls  from  the  golden  long  ago     " 
To  the  land  that  we  ne'er  shall  find; 

And  it's  uphill  here,  but  it's  downhill  there, 
For  the  road  is  wise  and  kind. 

And  all  rough  places  and  cheerless  faces 
Will  soon  be  left  behind. 

Come,  choose  your  road  and  away,  away, 
We'll  follow  the  gypsy  sun; 


THE  CALL   OF  THE  SPRING  181 

For  it's  soon,  too  soon  to  the  end  of  the  day, 

And  the  day  is  well  begun; 
And  the  road  rolls  on  through  the  heart  of  the 
May 

And  there's  never  a  May  but  one. 

There's  a  fir-wood  here,  and  a  dog-rose  there, 

And  a  note  of  the  mating  dove; 
And  a  glimpse,  maybe,  of  the  warm  blue  sea, 

And  the  warm  white  clouds  above; 
And  warm  to  your  breast  in  a  tenderer  nest 

Your  sweetheart's  little  glove. 

There's  not  much  better  to  win,  my  lad, 

There's  not  much  better  to  win! 
You  have  lived,  you  have  loved,  you  have  fought, 
you  have  proved 

The  worth  of  folly  and  sin; 
So  now  come  out  of  the  City's  rout. 

Come  out  of  the  dust  and  the  din. 


182  THE  CALL   OF  THE  SPBING 

Come  out,  —  a  bundle  and  stick  is  all 

You'll  need  to  carry  along, 
If  your  heart  can  carry  a  kindly  word, 

And  your  lips  can  carry  a  song; 
You  may  leave  the  lave  to  the  keep  o'  the  grave, 

If  your  lips  can  carry  a  song ! 

Come,  choose  your  road  and  away,  my  lad, 

Come,  choose  your  road  and  away! 
Well  out  of  the  town  by  the  road's  bright  crovm, 

As  it  dips  to  the  sapphire  day ! 
All  roads  may  meet  at  the  world's  end, 

But,  hey  for  the  heart  of  the  May ! 
Come,  choose  your  road  and  away,  dear  lad, 

Come  choose  your  road  and  away. 


THE  LIGHTS  OF  HOME 

I 

Pilot,  how  far  from  home  ?  — 

Not  far,  not  far  to-night, 
A  flight  of  spray,  a  sea-bird's  flight, 
A  flight  of  tossing  foam. 

And  then  the  lights  of  home !  — 

II 
And,  yet  again,  how  far  ? 

Seems  you  the  way  so  brief  ? 

Those  lights  beyond  the  roaring  reef 

Were  Ughts  of  moon  and  star. 

Far,  far,  none  knows  how  far ! 

Ill 
Pilot,  how  far  from  home  ?  — 

The  great  stars  pass  away 

Before  Him  as  a  flight  of  spray, 

Moons  as  a  flight  of  foam ! 

I  see  the  lights  of  home. 
183 


CREDO 

I 

Thou  that  art  throned  so  far  above 
All  earthly  names,  e'en  those  we  deem 

Eternal,  e'en  that  name  of  Love 
Which  —  as  one  speaketh  in  a  dream  — 

We  whisper,  ere  the  morning  break 

And  the  hands  yearn  and  the  heart  ache, 

n 

0  Thou  that  reignest,  whom  of  old 
Men  sought  to  appease  by  praise  or  prayer; 

The  spirit^s  little  gifts  of  gold, 
The  heart's  faint  frankincense  and  myrrh, 

Though  we  —  the  sons  of  deeper  days  — 

Can  bring  Thee  neither  prayer  nor  praise, 
184 


CBEDO  185 

III 
We  have  not  turned  in  doubt  aside, 

Nor  mocked  with  our  ephemeral  breath 
The  httle  creeds  that  man's  poor  pride 
Still  fashions  in  these  gulfs  of  death, 
The  little  creeds  that  only  prove 
Thou  art  so  far,  so  far  above, 

rv 
So  far  beyond  all  Space  and  Time, 

So  infinitely  far  that  none, 
Though  by  ten  thousand  heavens  he  climb 

Higher,  shall  yet  be  higher  by  one; 
So  far  that  —  whelmed  with  light  —  we  dare. 
Father,  to  know  that  Thou  art  here. 


By   ALFRED   NOYES 

Poems 

With  an  Introduction  by  Hamilton  W.  Mabie 

Cloth  J  i2mo,  $  1.25  net 

"  Imagination,  the  capacity  to  perceive  vividly  and 
feel  sincerely,  and  the  gift  of  fit  and  beautiful  expres- 
sion in  verse-form  —  if  these  may  be  taken  as  the 
equipment  of  a  poet,  nearly  all  of  this  volume  is 
poetry.  And  if  to  the  sum  of  these  be  added  the 
indescribable  increment  of  charm  which  comes  occa- 
sionally to  the  work  of  some  poet,  quite  unearned  by 
any  of  these  catalogued  qualities  of  his,  you  have  a 
fair  measure  of  Mr.  Noyes  at  his  best.  .  .  .  Two 
considerations  render  Mr.  Noyes  interesting  above 
most  poets :  the  wonderful  degree  in  which  the  per- 
sonal charm  illumines  what  he  has  already  written, 
and  the  surprises  which  one  feels  may  be  in  store  in 
his  future  work.  His  feelings  have  already  so  much 
variety  and  so  much  apparent  sincerity  that  it  is  im- 
possible to  tell  in  what  direction  his  genius  will  de- 
velop. In  whatever  style  he  writes,  —  the  mystical, 
the  historical-dramatic,  the  impassioned  description 
of  natural  beauty,  the  ballad,  the  love  lyric,  —  he  has 
the  peculiarity  of  seeming  in  each  style  to  have  found 
the  truest  expression  of  himself." — Louisville  Courier- 
JournaL 

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Mr.   ALFRED   NOYES'S   POEMS 

The  Flower  of  Old  Japan 

Contains  also  "  Forest  of  Wild  Thyme,"  of  which  the  Argonaut 
says :  "  It  is  not  only  an  exquisite  piece  of  work,  but  it  is  a  psychologi- 
cal analysis  of  the  child-mind  so  daring  and  yet  so  convincing  as  to 
lift  it  to  the  plane  where  the  masterpieces  of  literature  dwell.  It  can 
be  read  with  delight  by  a  child  of  ten.  It  is  put  into  the  mouth  of  a 
child  of  about  that  age,  but  the  adult  must  be  strangely  constituted 
who  can  remain  indifferent  to  its  haunting  spell  or  who  can  resist  the 
fascination  which  lies  in  its  every  page." 

"We  are  reminded  both  of  Stevenson  —  to  whom  Mr.  Noyes  pays  a 
glowing  tribute  —  and  Lewis  Carroll;  yet  there  is  no  imitation;  Mr. 
Noyes  has  a  distinct  poetic  style  of  his  own.  ...  In  a  matter-of-fact 
age  such  verse  as  this  is  an  oasis  in  a  desert  land. "  —  Providence 
Journal. 

"  It  has  seemed  to  us  from  the  first  that  Noyes  has  been  one  of  the 
most  hope-inspiring  figures  in  our  latter-day  poetry.  He,  almost  alone, 
of  the  younger  men  seems  to  have  the  true  singing  voice,  the  gift  of 
uttering  in  authentic  lyric  cry  some  fresh,  unspoiled  emotion."  —  Post. 

Mr.  Richard  Le  Gallienne  in  the  North  A?nerican  Review  pointed 
out  recently  "  their  spontaneous  power  and  freshness,  their  imaginative 
vision,  their  lyrical  magic."  He  adds  :  "  Mr.  Noyes  is  surprisingly 
various.  I  have  seldom  read  one  book,  particularly  by  so  young  a 
writer,  in  which  so  many  different  things  are  done,  and  all  done  so 
well.  .  .  .  But  that  for  which  one  is  most  grateful  to  Mr.  Noyes  in  his 
strong  and  brilliant  treatment  of  all  his  rich  material,  is  the  gift  by 
which,  in  my  opinion,  he  stands  alone  anaong  the  younger  poets  of  the 
day,  his  lyrical  gift." 

Clothy  i2mo,  $  I.2S  net 


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Lyrical  and  Dramatic  Poems 

By   W.  B.  YEATS 

In  two  volumes;  each,  $  i.y^  net 

The  two-volume  edition  of  the  Irish  poet's  works  includes 
everything  he  has  done  in  verse  up  to  the  present  time. 
The  first  volume  contains  his  lyrics  ;  the  second  includes 
all  of  his  five  dramas  in  verse  :  "The  Countess  Cathleen," 
"The  Land  of  Heart's  Desire,"  "The  King's  Threshold," 
"On  Baile's  Strand,"  and  "The  Shadowy  Waters." 

William  Butler  Yeats  stands  among  the  few  men  to  be 
reckoned  with  in  modern  poetry,  especially  of  a  dramatic 
character.  The  JVew  York  Sun,  for  example,  refers  to  him 
as  "an  important  factor  in  English  literature,"  and  con- 
tinues :  — 

"*  Cathleen  ni  Hoolihan'  is  a  perfect  piece  of  artistic 
work,  poetic  and  wonderfully  dramatic  to  read,  and,  we 
should  imagine,  far  more  dramatic  in  the  acting.  Maeter- 
linck has  never  done  anything  so  true  or  effective  as  this 
short  prose  drama  of  Mr.  Yeats's.  There  is  not  a  super- 
fluous word  in  the  play  and  no  word  that  does  not  tell.  It 
must  be  dangerous  to  represent  it  in  Ireland,  for  it  is  an 
Irish  Marseillaise.  ...  In  *  The  Hour  Glass '  a  noble  and 
poetic  idea  is  carried  out  effectively,  while  *  A  Pot  of  Broth  ' 
is  merely  a  dramatized  humorous  anecdote.  But  '  Cathleen 
ni  HooHhan '  stirs  the  blood,  and  in  itself  establishes  Mr. 
Yeats's  reputation  for  good." 

The  Neiv  York  Herald  remarks  :  — 

"  Mr.  Yeats  is  probably  the  most  important  as  well  as  the 
most  widely  known  of  the  men  concerned  directly  in  the  so- 
called  Celtic  renaissance.  More  than  this,  he  stands  among 
the  few  men  to  be  reckoned  with  in  modern  poetry." 


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A  History  of  English  Poetry 

By  W.  J.  CouRTHOPE,  C.B.,  D.Litt.,  LL.D. 

Late  Professor  of  Poetry  in  the  University  of  Oxford 

Cloth,  8vo,  $  j.2j  net  per  volume 

VOLUME  L  The  Middle  Ages  —  Influence  of  the  Ro- 
man Empire  —  The  Encyclopaedic  Education  of  the 
Church  —  The  Feudal  System. 

VOLUME  IL  The  Renaissance  and  the  Reformation— 
Influence  of  the  Court  and  the  Universities. 

VOLUME  III.  English  Poetry  in  the  Seventeenth  Cen- 
tury —  Decadent  Influence  of  the  Feudal  Monarchy  — 
Growth  of  the  National  Genius. 

VOLUME  IV.  Development  and  Decline  of  the  Poetic 
Drama  —  Influence  of  the  Court  and  the  People. 

VOLUME  V.  The  Constitutional  Compromise  of  the 
Eighteenth  Century  —  Effects  of  the  Classical  Renais- 
sance —  Its  Zenith  and  Decline  —  The  Early  Romantic 
Renaissance. 


"It  is  his  privilege  to  have  made  a  contribution  of  great 
value  and  signal  importance  to  the  history  of  English  Litera- 
ture." —/•«//  Mall  Gazette. 


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UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 
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